Fidelis
by Pentangle-linnon
Summary: A 'Ranger and Elf' tale. Two strangers test the meaning and depth of Legolas' and Aragorn's friendship. Character death, but not Legolas, Aragorn, or Kenuric.
1. Two Travelers

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**FIDELIS**

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Boring but necessary introduction:

This is a sequel of sorts to "The Taming of the Badger." I don't usually self-promote this blatantly, but reading it first would be helpful in understanding Aragorn's and Kenuric's relationship, which is very important later on. It can be found here: It is two chapters long.

This story occurs several years after "The Taming of the Badger", somewhen in the 'ranger years'. The geographical setting is the same, between the North Downs and the Mountains of Angmar (closer to the mountains). In the time since the first story, the rangers found a place to make a semi-permanent outpost, as the region continued to be troublesome to forces of the Light from time to time. Aragorn has not always been present at this encampment—only when the need was great. When the story begins, Legolas has been staying with his friend for some weeks.

Grateful thanks: This fic was a medium length, very ordinary ranger & elf fic until my beta, Chris, said, "You need to develop the Kenuric character more." So I wrote "The Taming of the Badger" for his backstory, and that totally changed "Fidelis" altogether. It's now long. It's now very angsty. The story is finished, although I will post week by week.

The first chapter is just set-up - sorry 'bout that.

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**Chapter 1 – Two Arrivals**

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Aragorn heard the drumming of hooves behind him and stopped his own ambling mount. He looked back to see the youngest of the rangers riding pell-mell toward him, waving a hand over his head, and shouting. Aragorn's horse sidled uneasily when the boy pulled to a sliding stop next to his commander. Motioning the seven men behind him to wait out of earshot, the Chieftain of the Dunedain asked tersely, "What is it? What has happened?"

The boy shook his head reassuringly and panted, "Nothing to threaten us, lord, but we have guests – " He drew a gasping breath and continued, "Two of them, but one needs a healer; one of great power for Kenuric says he cannot do more for him than cleanse him and put him to bed, although that will do for now."

Aragorn looked puzzled. "He – whoever he is – is not on his deathbed? Then why ride your horse nearly into the ground? I would have returned in a few hours at most."

The youngster apologetically stroked his horse's neck but kept his eyes on his leader. His expression became somber as he said more quietly, "He is on his deathbed, right enough, but Kenuric says it has been a long time coming and he will not pass today, or for many days if you are able to tend him. But, Lord Aragorn, they are _elves_!"

"What?! From Imladris? Who -"

The boy dared to reach a calming hand to Aragorn's sleeve. "No, not from Imladris! They have not said yet where they are from, but we asked—of course we asked—if they came from Lord Elrond. They say they have been traveling a long time and will wait to tell their story until you are returned to camp."

"I will come at once, then, as soon as I send the patrol on."

Aragorn gave orders to the curious men behind him, and then rode homeward with the young ranger. At first glance they could have been brothers—especially when clothed much alike in their ranger garb—for both were broad shouldered but narrow through the hip, with dark hair and light eyes. Neither was hard to look at, but Aragorn's eyes were silver grey while his subordinate's were nearly as blue as periwinkles. Another difference was the mantle of leadership that lay easily on Aragorn's shoulders. The youngster, spending his first years away from home, reminded one a bit of a puppy with his shy but ready smile, and his eagerness to prove himself. As the two rode side-by-side, Aragorn insisted they keep to a decorous pace while he listened carefully to what was known of the two strange elves.

"I saw them come in, since I was training with Legolas—he says he will make an archer of me or throttle me, one of the two! They rode in on two well-bred horses that looked like they have been on the road for some weeks: they are footsore and thin. One of the elves is old, I think. I did not know elves ever looked old, but his face is drawn and he moves slowly. He looks a little like Gandalf, as if he is very wise and patient. The other one is younger, I am sure, and allows his companion to speak for him. He dismounted quickly to help his elder down before we could do him the courtesy. The older one nearly fell into his arms, and then we could see he was badly wounded. We took him at once to the healing hut and Kenuric is caring for him now. He was able to speak and told us he was not from Imladris, Lorien, or Mirkwood. He said he had news of orc movements to the east, but that the telling could wait for your return. And that is all I know."

"Well done, Arvel, you have an observant eye. I must admit to a great deal of curiosity, so let us move on a little faster, now that your horse no longer looks like he will expire at any moment!"

The young ranger dropped his head in shame but raised it again when his hero set heels to his horse's sides and began to pull away. "Wait for me!" Aragorn's laugh drifted back to him as he pleaded with the tired horse to catch up with his mocking commander.

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The base camp for the rangers in this territory was within an ancient wood, in an area that had been used for charcoal burning before orcs and other dangers made it unprofitable. Only the largest trees remained, widely spaced, with no undergrowth beneath them except for closely grazed grass. In a wide clearing there could still be seen the large dusty circles where the coppice wood had been burned to create charcoal. Just within the fringe of the surrounding trees were huge piles of wood trimmings; they were leftovers from the charcoal process. Twice as tall as a man, they hid a cunning secret. They were the lodgings of the Dunedain rangers: huts that could sleep nine or ten men at a pinch, with small circular fire pits in the center, and trap doors that led to escape tunnels. One was given to Aragorn—and Legolas and Aragorn's brothers when they were in residence—in consideration of his status, one was devoted to the healing arts, and one provided limited cooking when the weather made it difficult to cook outdoors. The remaining four housed the rangers, providing snug quarters through the hard northern winters, though in milder weather the men preferred to sleep under the canopy of the trees.

The horses were corralled far back in the trees, and as Aragorn walked the path that led to the clearing, the chief of the healers that served the rangers came to meet him. Kenuric silently fell in beside Aragorn, and the younger man shot sideways glances at him as they walked together to the healing hut. Kenuric was tall and weedy, standing an inch or so above his leader. He always moved with an impatient vigor, leaning forward as if into a strong headwind. Alone among all but the younger rangers, his face was unscarred, though deeply graven with lines from his habitual scowl. The lines were all the easier to see since he was clean-shaven, though he made up the difference with long grey-blonde hair that he tied into a tail that hung down his back. His eyes were a glittering pale blue, like evening shadows on snow, and some of the rangers said they were every bit as cold. Nonetheless, they trusted their lives to him without question, and many a man was still alive only because of his stubborn will. He took the fight between himself and death personally, and when he lost a patient he did not weep, but swore bitterly and railed beneath the stars.

After walking together for some time, Aragorn finally broke the silence. "Are you going to tell me about them?"

"No. Best you meet them and draw your own conclusions. You and I will speak privately after you become acquainted."

Aragorn nodded, his straight white teeth tugging on his lower lip. He watched Kenuric's face become flat and expressionless, and sighed. "I have done it again. What was it this time?"

"_He_ used to sink his teeth into his lip like that when he was thinking. I often scolded him for it, for he would create abrasions that I always feared would become infected."

Aragorn smiled wistfully, "Did they?"

Kenuric snorted, "No, blast him!"

Aragorn laughed outright and touched Kenuric's arm briefly but in an unmistakable gesture of warmth. "Then I am truly his son, for I never sicken nor do anything my family says is sure to happen to me, if I continue my rash behavior. You should visit Imladris again; you and Lord Elrond would have much to commiserate over!"

Kemuric said quietly, "When I was there for training, I did not speak with Lord Elrond of your father very much at all. Why should I, when we had so many long years ahead of us? If I knew then how short our time together would be…"

Aragorn sobered, and his eyes turned to gaze across the compound to where an elf was removing his weapons and laying them against one of the huts. The elf raised a hand as he returned Aragorn's regard. The man nodded to him, then turned back to Kenuric. "I have learned much from you but nothing of more importance than to value the time I have with my friends."

Kenuric's reply stuck in his throat as he caught a brief glimmer of something odd in Aragorn's eyes. It was gone as soon as he noticed it, but he filed the occurrence away for later contemplation. He returned to the subject of the two elves in the healers' hut. "Come, you must be nearly consumed with curiosity as to the identity of our guests."

"That I am!" Aragorn reached out to pull at a bit of fungus—or what appeared to be so—and the door to the healing hut swung open. Inside, the walls were smooth and whitewashed, with six narrow beds set up for patients and piles of bedding in the corners in case others must be accommodated on the floor. Aragorn stood a moment and let his eyes become accustomed to the indoor light. He first noticed a long, slim form occupying a bed close to the wall, and another being standing behind it, pale hands tightly clasped and shining in the torchlight, while the face was in shadow.

Kenuric stepped forward to make the introductions. "Lenwë, allow me to introduce to you Aragorn, leader of the rangers, and a fine healer. Aragorn, this is our guest, Lenwë."

Aragorn stepped close to the bed and was barely able to control his expression. Propped up on a pile of pillows stolen from the other beds, was an elf with hair of midnight black and dark gray eyes. His face bore not only a narrow scar that ran from his jaw to his eyebrow on the left side, but also lines of pain that were so deeply etched that he appeared old. His complexion was pale, even for an elf, and in addition had a sickly yellowish tinge. Aragorn now understood Arvel's words, for surely this elf was well along the road to Mandos' halls. The elf smiled at Aragorn slowly, as though to move his lips took great effort. He carefully extended one finely shaped yet frail hand to Aragorn, who clasped it in both of his, feeling their healthy strength to be suddenly coarse and excessively robust. "Suilad, Aragorn. I thank you for the welcome and grace I have received. Your people are most kind to aid us."

Aragorn looked up at the figure standing so tensely and silently in the shadows beyond the head of the bed. Lenwë gestured slightly. "Come forward, Nienor, and greet our host." He looked again to Aragorn. "This is my friend who has cared for me most diligently during our travels. I pray one welcome holds for us both."

Aragorn looked at the elf as his face entered the light of the torches, and his breath was taken away. Surely only two or three hundred years old, Nienor was extraordinary in his beauty, even by elven standards. His hair was a rich chestnut, glimmering in the torchlight with red and bronze highlights. His eyes were the kind of hazel that takes its coloring from clothing or lighting, being at one moment a smoky green, and the next the color of amber flecked with gold. His ears, uncovered by warrior braids, were sharply tapered with slender tips. His cheekbones were high and his chin slightly pointed. His face was at the moment blushing rose up to his temples and down his throat but would normally be the color of the finest vellum—pale cream warmed by days in the sun to a golden glow on brow and cheekbones.

Aragorn loosened his jaw and nearly blushed himself to be caught staring, as he noticed a hint of amusement in the older elf's eyes. "The Dunedain welcome you both, for as long as you need to tarry here. Rest with us, regain your strength, and let us do whatever we may to help you heal of your wounds or illness." To Aragorn's surprise, the young elf made a graceful gesture with both hands but said no word. He stepped back into the shadows and clasped his hands again, but Aragorn saw tension in every line of the slight body, and observed how the fine eyes flickered between the elf on the bed and the ranger almost suspiciously.

"Does your friend not speak Common?" The ranger turned to Nienor. "Mae govannen. Heniach nin?"

The young elf's head moved gracefully in negation and regret. Lenwë said gently, "He is mute, Aragorn." At the man's startled look he added, "But although he cannot speak, he hears better than most, so do not hesitate to give him direction as to how our few possessions should be disposed and where he may sleep."

At those words the young elf moved abruptly and fell to his knees by the bed. He took the elder's hand in one of his and made frantic gestures with the other, indicating the space between the bed and the wall. Lenwë spoke sternly, "Hush, now! I will be fine here, and you will sleep wherever these kind folk bid you." He raised a shaking hand to touch Nienor's cheek. "It will be well; you must not fret so for me."

Aragorn could not bear to watch the distress of the young elf and said quietly, "We can move one of the other beds close to you, Lenwë. There is no need for him to be parted from you if he wishes to stay, especially since you are our only patient at this time."

Nienor bowed deeply in gratitude and Lenwë gave another of his slow smiles. "I must thank you again, Aragorn, for such consideration of Nienor's foolish fears. Now then, I am told you have a great gift, but while I will be grateful for any ease you may give me, my trouble is an old one and can wait to be tended. You have been on patrol and must wish to cleanse yourself of the dust of the road and get something to eat. I will still be here whenever it is convenient to tend to me."

Aragorn hesitated but thought that perhaps a little quiet and rest would be beneficial for the elf, especially since he was still unaware of the nature of the injury or illness, and did not yet know how taxing any treatment might be. He bid both elves a temporary farewell and stepped out into the leaf-patterned sunshine to speak with Kenuric. They moved a little away from the healers' cabin and with a raised eyebrow Aragorn indicated that the other man should begin.

Kenuric did not spare the bitter truth. "He is dying and no mistake. He took a horrendous wound perhaps a decade ago and has been slowly wending his way to the Halls ever since. It was a scimitar of the Haradrim that cut him stem to stern—I saw that type of wound often when I traveled in the south. If he had not had the finest care at the time he was injured, he would have died within a day or two at most. You will be able to strengthen him for his journey but little more, so put out of your mind any great healing feats. Even Lord Elrond could not save him. The wound becomes green again from time to time and that is what has happened now. I have sent Legolas to fetch athelas and blue flag, so that they will have been freshly plucked today. Now go and do as he suggests: clean yourself and get some food. It will take me nearly an hour to prepare enough bandages and solutions, so take some time and get a little rest. He will drain you, Aragorn, so best be prepared."

"That is a great sadness, but I trust your judgment. I will do as you bid me, if only to save myself the rough side of your tongue! One more thing, though. The younger one, Nienor, have you examined him as well? It is unusual to see one who is mute but not deaf. May we not do more for him than for his companion?"

"I had the same thought, but I have left him to you. He is very skittish and more than a little suspicious of our intentions toward Lenwë. Let him see you with his friend first, and then I think he will gentle to your hand. You are, after all, known for your winning ways!"

Aragorn rolled his eyes and turned away, smiling. The healer's words always had a little bite to them, but times had changed for the better between the two men. Once Kenuric's words might have been similar, but the tone would have been sharp and bitter as a dagger's point. These days, Aragorn often disgraced himself snorting back an inappropriate snicker when the healer let his sarcasm loose in council meetings. The irascible old badger was entertaining, Aragorn had to give him that. Though it was always more amusing when the tongue he wielded like a weapon was turned on someone else!

Before he headed for the hut that held the bread ovens, and the heavenly luxury of a hip bath out behind it in the trees, he went in search of Legolas. He was fortunate to find him quickly and filled him in on what he had learned of their visitors. Legolas, nearly blending into the wall of the hut behind him in his usual Mirkwood livery, creased his brow in thought as he sorted carefully through the green, leafy stems he had collected. "I have not heard of any elves wandering about on their own for many years, but in these times it is easy enough to be parted from your kin by violence or other mischance. The name Lenwë is familiar to me, but surely this cannot be _that_ Lenwë. They are not Noldor, you say?"

"The elder has the look of it, but I believe he is of a kindred that diverged and took a different life-path." Legolas' brows arched high in disbelief but the man nodded, "I think he is of the original Nandor. My father spoke of them occasionally, saying there are a few still to be found, passing like shadows over the earth. Nienor, now, is another story. Are there any Silvan that have hair the color of buckeyes?" Legolas shook his head in wonderment. "Well, it is not important now, I suppose. I would like you to be present while I examine them; it may put them more at ease, especially the younger of the two. It may be that I will have to bring pain to Lenwë, and if Nienor must be restrained, I would rather it be done by another elf. And Legolas…" Aragorn's eyes met his friend's with sadness. "Nienor is mute—he cannot speak. Will you do what you can to help him understand he is among friends?"

Legolas looked a little puzzled. "Of course, Aragorn. I will aid you and these elves in any way I can; surely you know you have no need to ask."

Aragorn gave his friend a wry smile. "I do know that. These two have unsettled me, though it is hard to imagine anyone less a danger to us, or what we do here. Pay me no mind; my foolishness will soon pass."

Legolas clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "No doubt this _particular _foolishness will pass, but I have great faith that you will find another!"

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END Chapter 1

A/N The Nandor thing will be explained after Ch. 2. Nienor is a female name but _he _is not a girl in disguise, or anything like that. He is just what he appears to be. I don't usually use 'real' elf names, but there is a reason why I did so this time.

Pen golwen - wise one

Mae govannen. Heniach nin? -Well met. Do you understand me?


	2. Two Patients

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Chapter 2 - **Two Patients**

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Legolas and Aragorn entered the healers' hut to find all in readiness on a long table in the middle of the room. Several bowls of water steamed gently, each with a different scent depending on which herbs had been added. Long strips and folded squares of linen were laid out in rows, as well as rather ominous looking instruments that gleamed dully in the light from the fire pit. Pottery jars and glass vials stood neatly grouped by type of contents, and clean, folded sheets finished the assembly. Legolas spared barely a glance for the familiar display, instead looking to the two elves. He noticed immediately that the one who stood half hidden in shadow vibrated like a bowstring with fear, anger, or both.

After introducing Legolas to the two travelers, Aragorn suggested they tell of their tribulations before beginning the healing session. Lenwë glanced at the shining implements and met Aragorn's gaze ruefully. "Perhaps you are right. Very well then, our tale is soon told. As you may have guessed, I am one of the old ones; I have seen Unnumbered Tears, Gondolin, and all the rest." Legolas' eyes widened at that, but he did not interrupt. "I think that I became tired of seeing city after city fall, army after army destroyed, and evil triumphing no matter how we strove to stop it. So I began to wander as a solitary ghost through the landscape. I visited all the elven kingdoms, including Imladris, where I stayed for a few hundred of the years of men—I forget now exactly how long. There were quite a few of us vagrant kind in those days, and we came together in loose associations and just as casually fell apart and went our ways separately again, however the wind blew us. I can see that you are surprised, but most of this will have happened long before you were born. As far as the dangers of the road: if you are in no hurry, have no particular destination, stay to the wilderness lands, and are very few in number, it is amazing how you may pass by evil unnoticed. At least for the most part, and until recently we were always lucky in our opponents. When you have fought at the Nirnaeth, and battled balrogs and other fell beasts, a score or so of orcs do not trouble you, and for the most part that was all I had to deal with.

"Thus was my life until twenty years ago when I saw smoke rising in the distance, the kind that you see when an entire village is razed. I crept upon the place, for there have been a few times that I have found someone yet alive that I could help. I saw there what one usually does, although the savagery was rather worse than that normally found. I buried the children, for I cannot bear to see them preyed upon by scavengers. As I checked the bodies for signs of life, I found Nienor lying with several others, all dead. He was the only elf and I saw nothing to account for his presence. He was badly mauled, but I was able to staunch his wounds, and I carried him from that place. He regained consciousness a few days later but has never spoken, even when we have been in dire straits. He is lettered and so told me his name. He says he cannot remember why he was in the village, and I have ceased to press him for answers. We traveled on together for several years, and I taught him the ways of the warrior; the old ways no longer taught in the elven lands. He would not leave me, though in Lorien I begged him to remain and let the Lady Galadriel help him find his past, and because I thought it would be a better life for him. He is, as you see, too beautiful to waste his life in the wilderness away from his people—or at least those who would gladly become his people. His soul is as beautiful as his face, and I would see him happily established among our kind." He sighed and shifted a little, a grimace contorting his features, and then continued, "At last there came a day, far away to the south, when our skill could not save us, and I took the wound you will shortly examine. For a few years I had hopes of eventually recovering, but it has been borne in upon me that that will never happen. This last year we have been slowly traveling to Imladris again, for reasons I will tell you privately."

Aragorn began to remove his tunic and roll up his shirtsleeves. "Be assured we will find the time to speak of that later. For now we need to begin while there is still some daylight left. Lamplight alone never serves as well."

Lenwë nodded and said to Nienor, "Leave me now. You know what is to come, and you will be distressed unnecessarily if you stay. I am sure one of the rangers, or Legolas, will find you a meal, and you can retrieve our packs as well. Go now."

The young elf took a fast step up to the tall head of the bed and placed one hand upon it in a death grip. His eyes were wild and he shook uncontrollably. When Legolas took one small step in his direction, hand out placatingly, he hissed fiercely and in a lightning move drew his belt knife. Legolas stopped and showed both hands, palm up and empty. He spoke softly and almost in song, and Nienor's eyes met his, though they burned with desperation. "It will be well, my friend. This man will help your companion. Peace, and listen. Aragorn has been my friend for many years. He is the finest healer I know, barring only his father, who is the Lord Elrond and who taught him well. He is not rough like some healers you may have seen; he is gentle and kind and his spirit will relieve much of the pain—I swear it."

Legolas spoke on and on, and the others in the room held their breath. At length a little of the wildness left the stranger's eyes, and Nienor turned his head to look pleadingly at the elf upon the bed. Lenwë coaxed the rigid hand loose from the headboard and held it soothingly. "Go with Legolas. Please. I ask you this for _my_ sake. I will need my strength for this—do not make me spend it in worry for you as well." As though magical words had been spoken, the young elf bent his head in submission and turned to go with Legolas. The prince ever so gently placed one arm around the rigid shoulders and with the other carefully took the knife. He began to slowly lead Nienor from the room. The younger elf went with him, but his head was turned back on his shoulders, and he watched Lenwë with worry as the door closed between them.

Once outside in the light of day, Legolas got his first good look at Nienor. His clothing had the drab coloring of much washing, but the materials had once been fine. The cut was archaic, with a shorter tunic than the sort worn nowadays by most elves, and tight leather leggings and boots buckled above the knee. Legolas had seen boots like those in one of his father's dusty trunks, when he had poked about in the storage rooms as an elfling. Where had a young elf gotten them in these days? Not only were they old in style, but they looked as though they had been made by one who was not a cobbler, for the stitching was uneven, and one bagged slightly about the ankle. Keeping his questions to himself for the time being, Legolas took Nienor to the communal fire but kept him a little distant from the other rangers. With great sensitivity they did not gaze curiously at the stranger but discussed the day, joked together, and otherwise acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Legolas went to the fire and then returned with two bowls of rich stew made from venison and vegetables. "Try this; it is very good. I know you think you are not hungry, but I will wager you have eaten nothing all day. Come, just a small bite." Legolas smiled his most winning smile and nodded encouragingly. Nienor raised a very small amount in his spoon and tasted it gingerly. He licked up the rest in the spoon and then looked at Legolas with widened eyes, as his hunger suddenly made itself known. He began to dip rapidly into the bowl and Legolas placed his hand out to slow him. "Not so fast, or you will need a healer yourself!" They ate silently together while Nienor kept his eyes turned to the healers' hut the entire time.

Legolas tried to turn the young elf's thoughts as well as find answers to a few questions. "I take it that you care very much for Lenwë?"

Nienor placed his empty bowl on the ground and put his hands together, one on top of the other, fingers hooked together. He pulled roughly at his own grip, showing that his hands would not separate. Legolas laid his own hand gently on top and said softly, "You are saying you will not leave him; you cannot be parted. I understand very well how you feel. Aragorn and I—he is my gwador—our hearts cannot be parted either, although we cannot always company together as we do now. That is how I _know_ he will not harm Lenwë—I know him better than I know myself. We, too, have traveled in many strange places and had many wonderful or terrifying adventures. You will surely be staying for a time while your friend gains strength to travel on. Would you like to hear some of our stories when your worries have been assuaged?"

For the first time Nienor made direct eye contact with Legolas, and the Mirkwood elf drew in a long breath at the loveliness of the eyes that met his. Nienor nodded and smiled shyly, and Legolas felt as though he had received a wondrous gift. "Then that is settled; I will tell you so many tales that you will run at the sight of me! Are you hungry still, or shall I take you on a little tour of our encampment? I am not sure where your packs were bestowed, but it will be easy to find them."

Nienor had once again turned his head to gaze upon the healers' hut, but the door remained stubbornly shut, and with a sigh he nodded to Legolas. He tapped his chest with a graceful hand and gestured at the circling trees. Legolas smiled warmly. "Let us go, then."

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Inside the healing hut Aragorn had cleansed his hands twice and then dipped them in an herbal infusion in a copper bowl. He said to Lenwë, "Are you ready?" The elf nodded and closed his eyes. Kenuric drew back the light blanket to show the nude body from which he had removed all the old bandages. Aragorn showed no expression but within he felt as daunted as he ever had. //Elbereth's stars! How has he lived this long?// The thin torso showed a dreadful wound that had started on the right side, over the ribs, and carved a deep fissure down to the level of the navel where it continued in a sweeping curve from just above one hipbone to the other. The elf had been as near to being disemboweled as it was possible to be and survive. A great sheet of red, striated scar tissue showed how the edges of the wound had never been successfully brought together for any length of time. The condition was not uniform, for over the ribs and down several inches, the healing was fair; there was scar tissue enough, but it was pink and smooth and was not the cause of the current trouble. Elsewhere it appeared as if the gash had happened recently with moist gaping sections that oozed a foul smelling substance. Aragorn put forth his hand and began to palpate gently a few inches away from the wound edges and slowly worked his way inward, carefully watching not only the body, but the face of his patient. The elf never opened his eyes, and Aragorn knew he felt great shame to be seen so badly damaged and weakened. Aragorn did not speak meaningless reassurances that could not possibly be true, but worked as quickly as he could. Kenuric stood at his side and handed Aragorn cloths wrung out in an astringent cleansing solution which he used to wipe away the effusions that he worked to the surface with deeply probing fingers. Next he packed the open places with soothing pastes. He did not stop to use the healing power at his command as he usually did, but used it throughout the process, letting it drain slowly from his fingertips. Finally he worked in softening balms that would ease the pull of the scar tissue and finished by laying a very clean sheet over all, before he pulled up the blanket. During the treatment Lenwë had made no sound, nor opened his eyes. When he was finished, Aragorn simply sat patiently beside the bed, recovering his own strength, and waited. Behind him, Kenuric quietly and efficiently disposed of odorous refuse and tidied the supplies that remained unused. He cast swift, probing glances at Aragorn, torn as always between concern for the man's depleted strength, and envy of a gift he could never match.

At length the elf drew a long, slow, shuddering breath and turned his head to look at his benefactor. "Thank you, Aragorn of Imladris; your father has taught you very well. You have his touch, both firm and gentle, and never have I felt such comfort from any healer's hands but his."

"There is nothing you could say that would please me better—I desire nothing more than to be Elrond's true son, in spirit if not in blood. Now, how is it with you?"

Kenuric's hands clenched on a partially rolled bandage until his knuckles shown white. Aragorn must be exhausted indeed; he did not normally speak so warmly of Elrond of Imladris in front of Arathorn's dearest friend.

Lenwë smiled at Aragorn with lips that had softened from their pinched tightness into a gentle curve. "Better. Much better. But you do not need to spare me; I know there is little that can be done. Just please, give me this—that I will make it to Imladris."

Aragorn unlocked his jaw and forced the words. "I am sorry, I cannot. It is possible, but not likely."

"Ah. So little time, then."

"Why do you need to make Imladris? You have been there at least once in the past, as I understand it."

"It is not for me, but for Nienor. He must be somewhere where I know he will be safe and cared for as long as he wishes to remain there. I must know that when he chooses, he will be escorted to the Havens, so that he may sail as we always planned to do together. Alas, I have left it too late and he will have to go on alone. That is what he fears most—to be alone. Ai, Aragorn, I meant him nothing but good and have done him nothing but ill. My greatest dread is that I will die before I see him safely disposed. If I die on the trail he will not go on; I fear he will fade where I fall."

"He must be a special person to inspire such concern for his future."

"I could tell you all the ways he is, indeed, special, but since we will be here for some time, I will let you learn for yourself. Now tell me plainly, what is my condition?"

"How did this latest setback happen?"

"I overtaxed myself and fell from my horse. The impact jarred the wound, as you saw."

"I thought it must be something like that. Well, you have been through it all before: parts of the wound are infected and the source is too deep for me to remove it completely. I can inhibit it somewhat, with the gift of my line, but it will only put off the inevitable. I hardly have words for what you have done. I have never seen anyone survive such a wound for so long, elf or man; your spirit is strong indeed. As to what I shall do for the next few days: I will repeat today's treatment at least twice more, maybe three times depending on the suppurations. Then I will suture the gaps closed again, and after that we will see how you do. Until I have resewn the wound you must stay in bed, on your back."

"Hm, boring, but I must bow to your expertise. Again I thank you, Aragorn. May Nienor return? He will fret until he knows you have not rent me limb from limb!"

"Yes, but first I would like to ask you about him. Do you know why he cannot speak? It is unusual for someone to be mute and yet be able to hear as well as he does."

"I have no idea why he cannot speak. He has said no word since I found him."

"What about sounds? When he cries? When he is in pain or angry? Does he squeak or whimper? Make any sound at all?"

"None. I have seen him in great pain and he has made little breathy, choking noises, but nothing more."

"If he will permit it, I would like to examine him."

Lenwë said simply, "He will do whatever I decree. When would you like to see him?"

"Tomorrow. Outside in the sunlight. I will want to examine his mouth thoroughly."

"Very well. Tomorrow it shall be."

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The next morning, Aragorn and Legolas were sitting together at a crude table outside Aragorn's hut, working out patrol rotations to ensure each ranger had enough time in camp to allow him to polish his skills with the Mirkwood archer. Suddenly Kenuric came storming up to them in high dudgeon. "Aragorn! You must do something at once! That spawn of Sauron _bit_ me! I demand he be kept away from the healing hut!"

"What on Arda are you talking about?"

"That Nienor! I went in to tend to Lenwë this morning, and Nienor tried to stop me—tried to take the bandages from my hands! Of course, I could not have that sort of nonsense, so I – where is Legolas going in such haste? I have not yet finished telling you –"

"Let us deal with this, Kenuric. Legolas did well with Nienor yesterday and may help to resolve the situation now." Aragorn moved his body to block Kenuric's forward movement and set himself to soothe the fuming healer.

Inside the healing cabin, it took both Legolas and Lenwë to calm the distraught elf and discover what had disturbed him. When Aragorn felt he had given Legolas enough time, he entered the hut to find Nienor somewhat sullen but calm. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at his friend and Legolas explained the situation, trying to control the corner of his mouth which was twitching slightly. "It seems that Nienor is under the impression that he, and he only, will tend to Lenwë unless you are treating him. When Kenuric approached the bed and began to pull down the sheet, Nienor…shall we say, took …exception… to such liberties. He seems to have given a (cough) spirited defense of his companion, and Kenuric was completely routed." The prince passed a hand across his mouth, and the eyes that met Aragorn's were full of mirth.

Lenwë groaned and said, "Aragorn, I am so sorry. I was dozing when Kenuric came in, and did not quite understand what was happening soon enough to put a stop to it. Nienor is very sorry, are you not?" The young elf looked stubbornly at the floor. "_Are you not_, Nienor?" The eyes that were now green swept between Aragorn and Legolas, and they were anything but contrite. He stepped to the head of the bed and stood with clenched fists. Suddenly he made a flurry of gestures, tapping himself, pointing to Lenwë, the table of supplies, and then sweeping his hand outward. His expression was both angry and pleading.

Legolas said in the quiet voice that had calmed many an overexcited young warrior, "Aragorn, he has tended Lenwë in all ways on the road, including caring for his wounds and other hurts. He either does not trust anyone else to do the tasks properly, or wants to do them himself out of devotion. Either way, he is surely competent. Let him do this."

Aragorn hesitated, thinking of how difficult Kenuric could be on a _good_ day, but Legolas pressed him further, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "Do you remember the time when I was poisoned, and we had just reached Lorien? I seem to remember that you refused to let anyone near me but you. You did not leave my side until the crisis had passed." He gripped Aragorn's wrist. "Please, Estel."

Aragorn nodded. "Kenuric will skin me, but very well. I will supervise the first dressing change and if Nienor performs well enough –" He held up a hand to stop another flurry of gestures. "- as I am sure he will, then he may take upon him all the duties normally carried out by Kenuric and his apprentices." He frowned darkly in the young elf's direction. "_I_ will still do the treatments, however, as I alone here have the gift."

Nienor smiled brilliantly and clasped one of Aragorn's hands, kissing it fervently.

"Yes, well, see you do a good job then. Now I intend to examine _you_ as well, so outside with you!"

Nienor went from happy to frightened in the blink of an eye, and he looked to Legolas for help. This time the Mirkwood elf denied him. "You must come with us, and let Aragorn see if he may help you. I am sure Lenwë agrees."

"Yes, Nienor, go with Aragorn. It will only take a little while, and I give you absolute assurance that he has a gentle touch. After that, Legolas has a few books in Sindarin here in camp which he says you may read, if you like."

Caught between the anticipation of new books to read and the uncertainty of Aragorn's examination, Nienor allowed Legolas to push him gently from the hut. Aragorn indicated a table across the clearing and a section of tree trunk for a seat, but first went to speak with Kenuric who stood tensely outside the healing cabin. "Kenuric, I think it will be best if you leave Lenwë and Nienor to me for a time. The young one—who is _very_ sorry he bit you –" Aragorn's lips twitched slightly, in spite of his determination to show only sympathy for his chief healer. Kenuic's brows drew more tightly together, but he kept silent. "- is in a rather fragile state just now. It will comfort him to care for his friend, as he has always done. And surely you can feel no regret at being relieved of the tedium of tending to Lenwë? This will free you to spend more time on your manuscript. Erestor mentioned in his last letter that he was concerned, since you have sent him no chapters for editing in some months."

Kenuric gave Aragorn a disgusted glare. The one that said: 'I know exactly what you are doing, and furthermore, you know that I know.' Aragorn maintained a sincere and concerned expression through pure force of will. Kenuric awarded Aragorn points for not smirking with triumph when he sighed and yielded. "Very well. It is true my book is being neglected, so I will let you do as you think best, even though _I_ am Chief Healer of the Dunedain. As for that youngster—if the term is not entirely out of place for one who may be three hundred years old!—I doubt you will impose any penalty for his treatment of me, even though your father would have birched him severely for such an offense."

Aragorn became deadly serious in an instant. "You wish Nienor punished? Beaten? I will not do it; I am not Arathorn's son in all things. If you want it done, you will have to do it yourself. At least he will not vex you with his cries!"

Kenuric flushed and turned his head away from Aragorn's piercing stare. The younger man moved closer and said softly, "Please, do not do this; I hate it when you pretend to be heartless. I know that you are not, and could no more beat that elf than I could."

Kenuric returned his gaze to meet Aragorn's, and his eyes were cold and distant. "You presume too much, Lord Aragorn, but it is true I generally try not to deliberately damage my patients! Now if you will excuse me, I believe I have been ordered to work on my manuscript." With a swirl of the elven robes the healer affected, the man stalked away.

Aragorn rubbed one hand roughly through his hair. "That went well." He drew a deep, calming breath and continued on his earlier course to where Legolas and Nienor waited for him.

Nienor was nervously examining the table but found nothing more threatening than a bowl of water and a small towel. He began to feel slightly better about his situation. Legolas leaned casually on the table with his arms folded across his chest. He smiled at Nienor in reassurance, as Aragorn stepped behind the young elf and gently pressed on his shoulders to encourage him to be seated. The body beneath the ranger's hands was as taught as a harp string, so Aragorn began to knead the thin shoulders with his knowledgeable fingers. He spoke quietly about the lovely glade and how fortunate the rangers were to have found it, and then moved on to the elf's condition. "Have you been examined by healers before?"

The shoulders twitched under the soothing hands. Legolas, carefully watching Nienor's expression, said quietly, "Yes."

"Were you hurt by these healers?"

A shrug. "Sometimes."

Aragorn's fingers began to work gently at the taut neck muscles. "Legolas will kneel beside you and you will hold his hand. If anything happens that frightens you or causes you pain, you will squeeze his hand and he will stop me. I promise I will stop. We will then discuss what I am doing, and whether you think I should continue. All right?"

The muscles beneath the soothing fingertips relaxed fractionally and the head nodded agreement. Legolas took up his position and smiled when Nienor grasped his hand as though to a lifeline. "Not so tightly, young one, or I will not know when to stop Aragorn. Are you ready?" Again the accepting nod.

Aragorn continued to ask questions and Legolas relayed the answers he saw in the face just above his own. The man's fingers began to quest in earnest as he moved the gentle massage into a palpitation of the throat and jaw. He moved slowly and in each area began with soft stroking before the touches gradually became more probing. "Do you know if you could speak before the massacre at the village?"

Legolas watched Nienor's expressive face and answered for him, as he could not move his head while within Aragorn's hold. "No."

"Can you make any sounds?"

"No."

"Whisper?"

"No."

"Does your throat or mouth ever hurt?"

"No."

"Next I want to examine your mouth. Will you let me do that? Good. First I must wash my hands…" Aragorn made use of the water and soap provided, then turned again to Nienor.

"Open wide for me. There, that is fine. I am going to feel if there are any cords or sinews trapping your tongue. You are doing very well." Aragorn slid his fingers gently beneath the tongue, around the cheeks, across the arching palette, and other structures within the elf's mouth. He kept up his quiet flow of words, though his eyes were closed and his head tilted as he concentrated on his fingertips. "Now this next part will be uncomfortable, but try to bear it if you can, though I will stop if you need me to. I am going to feel as far down your throat as you can let me. Hold on…here we go." Aragorn's fingers, which had moved so slowly and cautiously, now worked quickly as the elf struggled and gagged beneath him. He held Nienor's head pinned against his body while he ruthlessly did what was necessary. Legolas steadied the young elf but did not try to force the flailing arms and legs to be still. After several long moments, Legolas cried, "Enough!" and Aragorn removed his fingers and wiped them on the towel.

Aragorn stroked the richly colored hair. "You bore for longer than I expected – well done! I am sorry; I know that the sensation is extremely unpleasant, even though it does not actually hurt. Unfortunately, I found nothing to cause your lack of voice. I hope you will forgive me for putting you through that for naught, but I had to know if a simple procedure might help you. I have known those who merely needed a constricting bit of flesh severed and then they were able to speak. I am sorry that it is not so in your case."

Nienor looked as though he had expected nothing to come of the examination, and he smiled and gestured to show he appreciated Aragorn's kindness. Aragorn drank in the changes the smile wrought on the lovely face and felt his heart ache at his inability to help the young elf.

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End Chapter 2

A/N From the Sil and other sources: The Nandor were of the Teleri branch of elves (the others were Vanyar and Noldor) who refused to complete The Great Journey and so were given the name Nandor: Those Who Turn Back. Lenwe was their leader, at least in the beginning of their wanderings. Eventually some of their (much) later descendents became Mirkwood elves and other elven groups.

I went completely AU with Lenwe, in so far as his family is concerned. He _was _of the Nandor, he _was _very old, etc., but I wiped out his wife, children, and his many descendents, without a moment's thought for this story. Sorry 'bout that, Lenwe.


	3. Promises and Disappointments

**Chapter 3 Promises and Disappointments**

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The next two days passed uneventfully. Kenuric thawed slightly toward Aragorn, and, as agreed stayed away from the two elves. Aragorn treated Lenwë twice a day and Nienor did all else that needed to be done. He performed all the duties required for a bed-ridden patient without complaint and sat by Lenwë or played chess with him for hours at a time. He did not spend every moment within doors, however, as Lenwë insisted he spend some time each day out of the stuffy hut. At those times he was companied by Legolas, who had decided to stay in the encampment until the two wanderers had resumed their journey. On the second day he went to fetch Nienor and take him to the butts for a little diversion and exercise. The young elf was not yet finished caring for Lenwë, so Legolas sat upon one of the empty beds to converse with the Nando until Nienor would be ready to depart. As he recounted the sad decline of the Greenwood, he watched Nienor and marveled. The young elf was just finishing braiding Lenwë's hair and the tenderness in his touch was beautiful to see. He then pulled up the covers from the foot of the bed and folded them back a bit and began to massage the elf's feet and legs to prevent cramps from the enforced inactivity. When that was done, he carried a fine bow to the bed as well as some rags and a tiny tin containing a soft paste. Lenwë took the bow with a murmur of thanks and began to care for it with an expert hand. Meanwhile, Nienor straightened the blankets, tidied the clutter on the bedside table, and attended to other small chores. In everything he did he worked deftly and quietly, casting continuous glances to the head of the bed to ascertain all was well, or that nothing was wanted. He smiled often, a small smile of fondness that barely quirked his lips. In every motion, in every act, could be seen the love that he bore the elf that was so grievously wounded. Troubled, Legolas began to wonder what would happen when Lenwë left for the Halls. Surely his departure would tear the heart from Nienor and leave him bereft. How pitiful that one to whom fate had already shown a cold, unfeeling countenance, had yet more grief before him.

When it seemed there could not be any other chore to complete, Lenwë said warmly, "That is enough, unless you are planning to clean the floor by picking up one speck of dust at a time. Come here next to me." Nienor hurried to kneel by the bed. Lenwë took his chin in hand and chided him gently. "You spend entirely too much time taking care of me. Do you go now with Legolas and have a lovely afternoon. I have heard that he wields the finest bow in the three kingdoms, and you know that the sword and pike are my weapons—I have not taught you as well as I should have with a bow. Here, take mine and let Legolas fire it and see what he thinks of what may be the last bow in existence to have seen the battle at Fornost. Please, go and enjoy yourself. You have not only my blessing, but my order. Enjoy yourself or else!"

A laughing Legolas began to pull Nienor away from the bed, and with only a token resistance the younger elf followed him.

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Later that evening, just after supper when Nienor was clearing away Lenwë's dishes, the older elf said quietly, "We must talk, you and I. Now would be a good time, since the others are busy with their own meal. Are you willing?"

For just a moment a curious mixture of fear and rebellion shone in Nienor's eyes, but then he nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Lenwë drew a deep breath and berated himself for cowardice. This had to be done, for both their sakes. "In a week or so, we will start for Imladris. Our horses are well rested and we should make good time. Nonetheless, it will take a month or more as I cannot ride as long each day as I once did. You will still company me? These rangers would be glad to have you stay with them…"

Nienor smiled sadly and made the same gesture—hands hooked together, fingers unable to pull apart—that he had shown Legolas. He leaned forward and touched the elder elf just at the level of his heart and then touched the same fingers to his own.

"Very well. I wish that I were strong enough to be sorry, but I am not. I cannot imagine going on without you by my side. I have had no children in this life, but you are as a son to me. Dearest Nienor, you have done much for me; but I will ask you to do yet more. I want your promise to obey me in all that I ask."

Nienor stared soberly into the Nando's grey eyes. He slowly shook his head. "No."

Lenwë closed his eyes for long painful moments, but when he opened them again, they were hard as flint. "Then you will not come with me."

The graceful hands gestured fiercely in short, hard motions, the silence broken by harsh slapping sounds. "I will come even if I must follow out of sight! You cannot stop me!"

Lenwë said implacably, "Then I will tell them to bind you and keep you here. And you know, you _know_, they will do as I say!"

Nienor _did_ know. He had met many peoples and races in their travels, and always, however kind they might be, they treated him with pity, or wanted to protect him, or spoke only to Lenwë as if he did not exist"Does your friend want some venison?" "Is he…well…safe …around the children?" They spoke loudly and with simple words when they spoke to him at all. It was true the rangers had been different, with Aragorn and Legolas in particular thinking of him as a person in his own right, as a young warrior with thoughts and feelings as valid as any other's. They were kind, but not condescending. Even so, years of humiliating experiences caused fear to tighten a cold fist around Nienor's heart. It was too easy to believe that Lenwë could persuade his new friends that he must be protected for his own good. His body slumped as he sat upon the bed—in every line could be read his defeat.

Lenwë sighed in relief and stroked the silky hair back and tucked it behind a pointed ear. "You promise?" The young elf nodded. "Then this is my word, and you will follow it for I know your honor is true. I am dying, Nienor. Not as I have been these last years, but soon, very soon. Aragorn says I may well die before we reach Imladris."

At first Nienor had not reacted much to his dear friend's words. He knew Lenwë was dying—he had been doing it for a very long time. But to hear it would be within weeks! He desperately clasped his hands in his lap and determined his tears would not fall. Lenwë was worried for him as it was; he would not add his grief to that burden, when every breath the wounded elf drew was a struggle against pain and weariness.

Lenwë continued, relieved he did not have a hysterical elf on his hands. "You will take my body on to the Hidden Valley for I wish to lie in that elven haven of peace. And then, my friend, though you will spend some time there to recover—for I know that my passing will grieve you—you will go on to the havens and sail. You will _not_ fade; I forbid it. I must have this to ease my last days. The knowledge that you will _live_ and reach your kin, and someday have a beautiful family and great, great happiness. We do not know your past, but I do not think you have had much of that in your life. I want to find, when we meet again, that you have found every joy I could wish for you. Promise me you will not fade."

Nienor spoke with dreary, slow motions. "Will you send your hands from the Halls, to hold together my shattered heart?"

The Nando's voice, which up to now had been smooth and controlled, cracked and roughened. "I do not deny it is a hard thing I ask of you, but you must trust that I know best. Promise me."

After a long, long wait the hands moved again, briefly. "I promise."

Lenwë patted the shoulder that hunched before him and then spoke briskly to free them from paralyzing emotions. "Thank you. In only a few years you will see that I am right to bid you as I have done. Enough of all that! I think Legolas taught you a game that is well-liked in Mirkwood, did he not? I would like you to teach me this game, if you think I am not too old to learn."

Nienor stumbled to a small chest and pulled out a pouch that held the playing pieces. Lenwë was correct as usual—he needed a diversion from his bleak thoughts.

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While Lenwë and Nienor spoke of grief soon to come, Legolas and Aragorn walked together, far from the fire where the rangers gathered for songs and stories. Both were pensive until at last Aragorn broke the silence. "How was your time with Nienor today? Did he enjoy himself?"

Legolas laughed lightly. "Yes, and he did very well! He is already a fine marksman, and he was able to make all the corrections I suggested as quickly as anyone I have ever taught. Have you seen him smile, Aragorn? He does not do it often, but it is like the sun shining on the Western Shore – so bright and warming to the soul. He smiled many times today."

"I have only seen him smile a few times, but you are right; I do not believe I have ever seen such warmth expressed so sweetly."

"Something troubles you about him, though. What is it?"

"There are so many things; I have so many questions! Who are his people? Where did he come from? Why was he the only elf in that village—so young!—or if he was not, why did not his companions take him with them when they left?"

"I, too, have thought long on these things, Aragorn. I have gone over all the stories I have ever heard about wandering elves, and I can remember none with hair like his, and it would surely be a feature of any tale about him."

"I have come to believe that there is nothing wrong with his voice at all."

"You mean he deliberately does not speak? That would be nearly impossible for all these years, not to mention Lenwë said he has seen him in agony and he made no true sound."

"No, not deliberately. I think whatever happened in the village has stolen his voice. I have heard of it happening, in human children. If terror or grief is great enough, it can happen."

"If that is true, is there any hope that his voice will return?"

"It has been a long time, and normally I would say no. I have only heard of two such cases and both were mortals. But perhaps elves are different and it takes much longer, even as it takes you longer to attain adulthood. After all, I am the last person to say there is no 'Hope'," said the man sometimes known as Estel. Legolas' lips twitched, but the elf did not groan as he usually did when the man made a dreadful play on his name. Aragorn probed gently, "Is there something else that troubles you about our guests?"

"What do you see when you look at them? When you see them together?"

"What should I see? An ancient elf, slowly dying, and a youngster that accompanies him. A youngling with his own personal trial to add to the sorrow he bears for Lenwë."

"That is all you see?"

"Yes, although it is apparently not what you see, if I interpret the darkness in your eyes aright. So tell this lack-witted human what you see when you look at them."

Legolas stopped and looked sadly at his friend. "I cannot. You do not wish to hear it; you never want to hear it, though I have need to say it." He turned and walked away, leaving Aragorn perplexed and a little angry.

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The next morning Aragorn went again to the infirmary to dress Lenwë's wounds. Nienor worked deftly as his assistant, always placing the correct bandage or salve in the man's hand, never standing in the wrong place, never flinching from the scarlet or odorous cloths returned to him. When all was finished, Aragorn gave him his highest praise. "You are as fine a helper as I have ever had, Nienor, and that includes the healers in Imladris. If you are finished—and Lenwë can spare you—Legolas is waiting for you at the butts. It seems you are not only a fine healer's assistant but a fine student of archery as well. He says you make a nice change from teaching clumsy rangers." He grinned widely at the blush that stained the high cheekbones and made the young elf even more beautiful than he normally was.

Lenwë also smiled and urged his companion into the fresh air. "Do as Lord Aragorn says, Nienor." The ancient elf then looked back to the man standing beside him. "If you have a few more minutes, I would like to speak with you a little longer."

Aragorn nodded. "I will be pleased to do so, but I must give Nienor some good news before he leaves." The young elf looked at him questioningly. "I think that after you have finished with Legolas, you should take Lenwë outside so that he may get some air."

The sudden light that blazed in Nienor's eyes was wonderful to see, but Lenwë quickly drew Aragorn's attention again. "Ah, at last! I thought you were going to keep me in this bed for a yen or two!"

Nienor was once again fussing with blankets and pillows, his happiness expressed in loving attentions. Lenwë halted him by grasping one wrist before teasing gently, "The sooner you join Legolas, the sooner we may stroll about this ranger camp you have described to me."

Nienor threw his head back, his eyes danced and his lips parted. Aragorn was so lost in the expression of merriment that he waited expectantly to hear silvery laughter peal from the lovely mouth. His hands clenched by his sides when he heard nothing.

Unaware of the man's distress, Nienor gave the duvet one last pat before spinning on his heel and running from the hut. Aragorn turned back to Lenwë, who looked at him sympathetically. "It is hard to see him, who would sing like the nightingale, or laugh like a stream dancing over rocks, without a voice. Even for me, after all this time. It is of him I wish to speak."

"I am listening."

"Although I have been bound to this bed by overcautious healers –" Aragorn grinned. "- I have learned a great deal about you and this young Prince of Mirkwood. Some of it by observation, some through Nienor, and some from your men who have come to visit me out of curiosity or compassion."

"It is amusing to hear you call him the _young_ Prince of Mirkwood! Please do so in my presence! I wish I had a gold piece for every time I have heard about his length of years and experience, and why I, a mere child, should listen to his sage advice."

"Well, you must understand he was not even born when I passed through Greenwood the last time. So compared to me, he _is_ young! Since you have been so kind to me, I will endeavor to repay you by pointing that out to him! However, regardless of the trial he must be to you, it is obvious you are good friends. You understand each other without speech and have great strength together. Strength that I would like to bind to my service, though I have nothing to offer in exchange."

"What do you want of us? If it is in our power, we will do it."

"I want you to escort us to Imladris."

Aragorn frowned. "It seems I should think before I lightly offer what I may not be able to give. In other times I would gladly bring you to my father, but my duties here cannot be left for so long. The times darken, as you know, and I cannot abandon this territory for this while."

"I do not ask for myself. For me, an orc blade or Easterling arrow can only be a mercy at this point. But you know what is likely to happen before I reach your home, and I want someone with Nienor who will have the strength to hold him to this world. He likes you both, and trust me when I say his liking is not given often! He has found a friend in Legolas, and between your power and the prince's kindness, I think you could prevent his fading. In these times, there are few who could do so. He has sworn to me that he will not fly Arda, but I am afraid that oath will be forgotten when he is sure his heart is breaking."

"It is a grief to see anyone pass, especially one of the Firstborn who are not meant to taste of death. But even if he dies, he will eventually wend his way to Valinor, though the journey may be long. Do you know Glorfindel of Gondolin? He is one who has made that journey, yet returned to us. Through him we know a little of what may occur."

"I knew him before his death, and met him again as your father's marshal in Imladris. Tell me this then, for you must know him well, how often does he speak of his time in the Halls?"

Aragorn thought a moment. "Never. He has spoken a little of what brought him there, and what occurred at the time of his return, but never of the Halls themselves." Unwillingly the ranger admitted, "His face is bleak when they are mentioned."

"I do not think they are a fit place for Nienor. He must go directly to Valinor on one of Cirdan's ships. I know Lord Elrond would see him escorted to the Havens once his grief has somewhat abated. Can you not take him to your father? I have seen Elrond, after the losses of the Last Alliance, hold a grieving elf to this world by his formidable will alone. But it will take one of similar power to get him alive to Elrond. If need be, I will beg you."

"I would not humble you so, but even if I did, it would change nothing. I will send my best men with you, but Legolas and I must stay in this territory."

"Then there is nothing more to be said. I do not blame you, Aragorn, for I would have said the same in your place. Please know that you will always have my gratitude for your kindness to me and to Nienor." The elf watched Aragorn struggle to find words to soften his decision, and helped him end the painful discussion by closing his eyes and saying gently, "I think, if you will excuse me, that I will rest until Nienor returns to take me on my first outing. I will never hear the end of it if I collapse before I cross the threshold."

"Of course. No doubt I will see you when you take your stroll. May…may your reverie bring you peace." After speaking the formal words he had learned at Elrond's knee, Aragorn turned and left the hut. Though it did not seem that he found peace for himself, for as he crossed the compound he swore bitterly under his breath, and looked so fierce that those who wanted a word with him found other tasks and looked very busy indeed.

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End Chapter 3


	4. Visions and Plans

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**Chapter 4 - Visions and Plans  
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Legolas slowly poured a pitcher of water over Nienor's head and bent torso. Standing stripped down to leggings, the young elf quickly wrung out his hair and tossed it over his shoulder, then accepted the small towel Legolas held out. Once dressed again, he returned the favor for Legolas as he helped him with his own ablutions. Legolas shook out his own shorter hair, and then took the towel in his turn. "Ah, it is pleasant to be refreshed after such a rigorous practice!"

Nienor nodded vigorously and smiled, but then pointed to the infirmary.

Legolas frowned. "So the company of the Prince of Mirkwood is not enough for you?"

Nienor paled and his hands flew in apology. Legolas laughed and then apologized in his turn. "Forgive me, Nienor. I care nothing for titles and such nonsense, but I could not help teasing you a little. Do you want some help? Lenwë is taller than you are, and he must be awkward for you to manage at times."

Nienor made the gesture that Legolas understood as 'No, thank you,' before he turned and ran for the hut. The prince watched, shaking his head. //His every movement is comely—I am clumsy in comparison. What will happen to one so fey, when he is alone in this harsh world?// He found a log to sit upon so that he had the doorway of the hut in his view. After a time he saw Lenwë move into the doorframe and lean one hand against it. Nienor had one arm around his waist on the other side, with Lenwë's arm about his shoulders. After pausing a few moments, the two began to slowly move into the clearing that made up much of the common areas of the camp. Nienor frowned in concentration as he shifted his glance quickly between their footing and his friend's face. Lenwë bent his head to Nienor's ear, and they veered toward where Legolas was sitting, watchful in case he was needed. When the two elves arrived, Legolas stood and said to Nienor, "Let me take him while you sit down and then I will lower him into your hold." The young elf nodded and quickly transferred Lenwë into Legolas grip. Then he sat upon the log and leaned back slightly, taking Lenwë into his arms. He placed the elder against his chest and leaned back even further so that the wounds would not be over-stressed. Legolas knelt on the ground before them and began to point out various rangers as they moved about the clearing, and where meals were eaten and where the necessary was located. After a time, the three rose and traveled slowly around the camp. Lenwë was delighted to be outdoors and asked to linger under the venerable trees that sheltered the camouflaged huts. It was nearly an hour later that Aragorn found them and insisted his patient had had enough and needed to return to his bed.

Although the exercise had tired Lenwë, he lay awake long into the night, listening to the even breathing of the young elf on the pallet beside him. He thought of Legolas and Aragorn, Elrond, and Cirdan. But most of all he thought of Nienor, who drifted uneasily in the land of reverie. After a time the wounded elf's mouth firmed and thinned in determination, and his eyes had a steely, yet almost sublime light. He nodded twice to himself, and then allowed his eyes to glaze over as he joined his companion in elven dreams.

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The next few days settled into a routine. Aragorn met with returning rangers and sent others out after long discussions over maps. He had decided to stay in the encampment until Lenwë and Nienor had left them, which would be soon. The rest of his day was spent between treating Lenwë—and resting afterward—and putting the younger rangers through their paces in arms. Legolas remained busy working with every ranger in camp at one time or another, helping them sharpen their skills with bow and arrow. He also spent many hours with Nienor, and was always at hand when Lenwë made his cautious way around the campground. The ancient elf increased the length of time he spent outdoors and appeared stronger each day.

Lenwë also had many conversations over those same few days. Some in particular occurred without anyone to witness them, and later those involved realized that Lenwë had planned carefully for that very thing.

The youngest apprentice healer was asked to supply a vial of an elixir that would help one sink deeply into a healing sleep. The young man was eager to please the elf that was a living fable, and certainly those who lived a wandering lifestyle would need to be plentifully supplied with common medicaments.

Aragorn was asked for a pouch of dried leaves to carry with them on their travels. The leaves, when placed beneath the tongue, released a powerful painkiller.

Legolas was asked if he had any of the reviving cordial made by the elves and called Miruvor. Lenwë implied that he appreciated a sip or two of an evening, and with a wink the prince murmured that he could perhaps locate a small flask.

On another occasion, Lenwë asked to be taken to the area in the woods where the horses were kept. Nienor was not surprised, for both elves had a special kinship with their mounts. Lenwë stroked and spoke to his gelding, taking a brush and working over the already immaculate hide for a few minutes. He then noticed all the other heads turned curiously in his direction and he made his way throughout the herd, stroking and speaking to each one, briefly setting his palm on each forehead.

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On the fourth evening after Lenwë's first venture outside, Legolas settled onto his cot but found himself unable to find reverie. First it was an itch between his shoulder blades, then the sharp barks of a fox in the distance, then his blanket was too tightly wrapped around his feet. Giving up the idea of rest altogether, the elf stepped into the night. He was drawn to the healing hut but stood hesitating outside the door for several minutes. It was far too late to explain a visit away as a social call. The door had been left slightly open on this warm spring night and at last Legolas slipped through the narrow opening. The room was dark save for a soft radiance around the bed that stood against the far wall; Lenwë's glow was being restored as his strength returned. At first Legolas did not see the Nienor, but then his eyes were caught by what appeared to be a small bundle next to the bed. Silently moving closer, he saw the bundle was actually the young elf kneeling beside the bed, toward its foot. His hands were clasped together and his upper body curved over them, with his forehead pressed against the blanket. His hair was tied back in one long plait, his shoulders were hunched, and all in all he looked like someone trying to take up as little space as possible. Legolas began to turn to leave this apparently peaceful scene, though he wondered why Nienor chose such an uncomfortable position when his pallet lay just behind him. Then Legolas saw the shoulders shaking slightly and he realized that Nienor wept. In the darkest, bleakest hours of the night, when no one would see and worry, especially Lenwë, Nienor allowed his sorrow to pour down his cheeks. He began to rock slowly, and so much misery was expressed by the movement that Legolas felt his throat tighten and his heart clench within him. He hesitated, torn between a desire to offer comfort, and shame at intruding on such a private moment. As he stood wavering between the two actions, his gaze expanded to view Lenwë lying straight and still, his hands crossed upon his breast. The prince could see a slight rise and fall, so he knew the elf had not yet started down the White Road. But the posture was morbidly evocative, and the silent figure soon blurred in Legolas' vision and became a little rounder, a little more robust, as though the body beneath the sheet was no longer that of a wasted elf. The hair was shorter and mostly gray with a diadem upon it and crossing the brow. A short beard clung to the cheeks that were waxy and pale. The hands clasped a sword hilt and suddenly Legolas took a sharp step backward as he recognized the _man_ who now lay there. Nienor never noticed the trespasser, but he also changed, lengthening somewhat, broadening across the shoulders, and bearing flaxen hair instead of chestnut. The shoulders still shook and the body still rocked with anguish. Legolas gasped in horror, causing Lenwë to shift and mutter fretfully. Nienor at once looked up at his motion, and moved quickly to smooth a tender hand over the furrowed brow. Still unseen, Legolas stumbled backward out of the hut.

Several minutes later the wood-elf was high in an oak, trying to slow his pulse and impose order and logic on his mind. It was _not_ Aragorn lying in that hut; it was a tragically wounded elf who was barely an acquaintance. It was not he, himself, who sobbed silently in the night. The illusion had not even been the True Sight, such as Elrond could claim on rare and desperate occasions. It was a mere chimera caused by his frustration with Aragorn. Legolas had long ago accepted that his friendship with Aragorn would be but a moment in an elven lifetime, and that their parting was inevitable. Nonetheless, he occasionally needed to speak of it. But Aragorn would turn the conversation, or think of a sudden task that demanded his attention. The strange thing was, it had not always been so between them. When Aragorn was younger he had been more amenable to such discussions, and had never become impatient when Legolas needed to confront the reality of the dunadan's mortality. Legolas often pondered on what had changed between them, and had come to the conclusion that in those days Aragorn had, in common with most young men, not truly believed in his future death. Even when bleeding like a river, or studded with orc arrows, he had not believed the cold breath of death could truly touch him. Now years and sad experience had brought such unpalatable truths home to him. Now his reply to Legolas' probing was a brusque, "There is no point dwelling on what cannot be changed. If I dwell upon my possible death I will not have the courage to do what I must, now and in the future. It is best if we both put it out of our thoughts" Legolas pulled his knees up tightly and rested his forehead against them. He had to think of a way to approach Aragorn and break down his defenses before the 'non-existent' problem caused a serious rift between them.

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The eighth day after Lenwë's first excursion away from his bed was, on the surface, an untroubled continuation of those before it. Lenwë spent the entire morning outdoors, much of it down by the butts where he applauded Nienor's newly-honed skills and marveled at the bowmanship of the Prince of Mirkwood. When Nienor demonstrated a few techniques of hand-to-hand combat, perfected by the Nandor and little known among other elves, Lenwë could not contain a prideful smile at his protégé's mastery.

Lenwë spent the afternoon resting in a hammock in the shade of the deep woods. Nienor sat on the ground, cross-legged, leaning his head back against the knotted cords so that he could watch the birds and squirrels among the canopy. After an hour or so, Lenwë spoke absently, "We will be leaving tomorrow, I think. Aragorn has done all he can for me and I see no point in lingering, pleasant though our stay has been."

Nienor lazily gestured to say that the horses were well-rested, and all their belongings cleaned, repaired, and ready to pack. He smiled warmly and spoke of the luxuries that the rangers had provided, such as bar soap, as well as the medicines that they freely gave in abundance.

Lenwë stretched cautiously and then reached a hand down to teasingly tug an ear point. "You have been busy, I see. We must be sure to offer our thanks for such bounty. You may finish the preparations this evening, and we will both enjoy one last night in delicious comfort. Then off we go to Imladris. You will love it there, youngling, for the beauty Elrond has created is remarkable, especially in these sad times. I wish that I could…" Lenwë sighed and then said briskly, "Help me up, please, and let us see if your pretty begging can get us a foretaste of the berries that will be served tonight.

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Later that evening, Lenwë asked for parchment, quill, and ink. He wrote several missives, folding each one into a small rectangle, which he then secured with his own seal. He made a little stack, with the one inscribed to Nienor placed at the bottom. He tied them into a bundle with a cord, and put them under his pillow. He held up his seal, rotating it in the glow of the candles by his bed. He mused to Nienor, who was stuffing clean linen into a pack, "Is it not amazing the little things we have managed to keep with us through storm, orc attacks, and all the other disasters that have overtaken us?"

Nienor nodded, then hid a smile by tilting his head down. It seemed Lenwë was in one of his contemplative moods. The Nando continued, "Have I taught you well, I wonder? Will you think fondly of me as the long yen toll past, or will you see me as I truly am: selfish for wanting to keep you for myself, instead of leaving you with Celeborn or Thranduil? If I had left you in Mirkwood, you and Legolas would have been friends for many years now."

Nienor shook his head in disgust. This was old ground; they had been over it many, many times in the past. His assurances that he wanted nothing from life but to wander Middle-earth with Lenwë were always brushed aside as youthful foolishness. He jerked an angry shoulder, but for once Lenwë seemed not to notice as he continued on in a quiet voice, "There are three things I want you to remember. The first is that, if I had to be sorely wounded to gain your company, then it is a price I pay gladly. The second is that your soul is as clean and bright as any star in the sky, and you must do nothing to tarnish it: guard your honor, keep your word, succor the weak, and hold no quarter for evil of any kind. And lastly, if you heed nothing else, heed this: life has yet many wonderful things to offer you; some are beyond your wildest imagination. Live and love, Nienor. Give the others that will come into your life the pleasure of your smiles, let them into the warmth of your heart. Give to them but a small portion of what you have given me, and you will never want for friends."

Nienor blushed fiercely but even as he did, his heart ached with sorrow. His hands moved shakily, expressing his agitation. "Why do you speak so now, when you are so much better, and we are about to begin adventuring anew? Whatever you wish to say to me, there is ample time yet to say it."

Lenwë blinked a few times and said, "You are right, of course. Pay no attention to my maudlin speechifying. But…" His voice sank to a whisper. "…remember…"

The rest of the evening was spent with a chess board. The two wanderers knew it would be some time before they would have another set to play with that was not made of leaves or stones. Aragorn came one last time to try to persuade Lenwë to rest a few more days but gave in with good grace when he saw there was no budging the ancient elf. Finally, it was time for the cup of herbal tea that Lenwë and Nienor always shared just before turning in. Nienor brought a tray and set it upon the bed, for Lenwë liked to make a small ritual of pouring, sweetening, and handing out their tea, as if they were in a noble's house in Gondolin, instead of a rangers' camp in the middle of nowhere. The ritual was so well-known to Nienor that he took no special notice of the tasks as Lenwë performed them. Thus he did not see the small cut-glass vial palmed neatly in the hand that spooned the honey.

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End Chapter 4


	5. A Warrior Departs

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**Chapter 5 - A Warrior's Departure**

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It was very late when a slowly moving figure made his way to the horse pens. When the animals caught his scent, they shifted restlessly, troubled by the break in their routine. But then they recognized him and did not whicker or paw the ground in suspicion, but rather moved sleepily to rest their hips and drop their heads again. He quickly saddled his own mount and led him forth, heading for the sentry post. He did not mount at once, needing some sort of aid which he eventually found in a fallen log. His breath hissed sharply as he gingerly lifted his leg over the broad back, and he sat still for some time, waiting for the world to settle back into focus. When he had regained his composure, he started the horse walking boldly toward the guard stationed at the nearest point in the camp's perimeter. He gathered his dignity and unleashed the full force of his personality, sitting tall and straight and looking every inch the great warrior and elven lord he had once been. The guards would not question one who showed no nervousness, and who carried himself as if he owned the wood and all in it.

When he was hailed and found himself looking at the sharp point of a nocked arrow, he spoke briskly. "Good even, warden. Your alertness is a credit to your chieftain; I will tell him so when next I see him."

The arrow point lowered slightly, though the string remained drawn to the man's ear. "It is late to be taking a ride for pleasure, lord. Where are you bound?"

"Late for a man, yes, but I am, as you see, an elf. It is a lovely night, and as you no doubt know, I have been confined indoors for some time. I merely wish to ride the road for a short while and enjoy the moonlight. I will not go far, as I am not yet fully recovered."

"Surely you should not go unaccompanied."

The ranger shivered from what felt like a sudden drop in temperature. The elf's eyes were frost as he said, "It has been long since I gained my majority and left my minders behind. Do you think to take their place? Shall I ask your permission to ride alone?"

The young guard felt the sting of blood rushing to his cheeks. He started to stumble a protest, but then fell silent. The presence of the rangers' base camp made the immediate area as safe as anywhere in these times, and he was simply too inexperienced to overcome both the elf's calm assumption that whatever he wished would come to pass, and the invocation of Aragorn's name. He had not spoken with the elf before, but all the rangers knew his story and knew that Aragorn treated him with all courtesy and honor. He slowly relaxed his string hand and said deferentially, "Pass then, lord, but take care. You do not know these woods, and there are places where even a clever horse may put a foot awry. I would not have you fall, so newly recovered as you are."

Lenwë graced the young man with a smile. "I thank you and will heed your advice. Indeed, it was just such a thought that caused me to choose to ride the road this night, rather than fumble across unfamiliar country. May the rest of your watch pass uneventfully." He nudged his horse and started forward but then twisted and spoke over his shoulder. "I believe I will return from the south, so do not be alarmed if I do not come through this way again tonight."

The guard waved in acknowledgment, then turned to climb back into the tree that gave him cover and a good vantage point for the surrounding area.

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Lenwë kept his horse to an amble suited to a pleasure-riding invalid until he was certain he was out of earshot of the camp guards. Then he dug his heels into his horse's sides and stood in his stirrups, the better to tolerate the motion of a running horse. He raced along the road for a short distance, then turned straight north, heading like an arrow for Carn Dum, the most western peak in the Mountains of Angmar. Lenwë knew it well, for the Witch King had made his home there until his victories had allowed him to possess Fornost. Lenwë had been a leader in the guerrilla warfare that had harried the Nazgul, trying to keep him confined to his mountain fortress. The evil one had chosen Carn Dum because the flat plain led directly to its foot, where the walls rose steeply with no foothills to soften the climb, or hide his enemies. It had been ascended by old tracks, treacherous even then, that would be suicidal to try now, when storms and time would have worked to increase the danger. Lenwë smiled darkly, his lips pulling away from his teeth in a rictus of pain and determination. He felt little more than relief that all would soon be over.

Lenwë's horse was very fresh and would have run the entire distance to the mountain. However, the elf's strength often failed him, and he was forced to pull back to a walk for long distances. As soon as he regained his breath, and the fire that burned in his belly banked sufficiently, he urged his horse to a gallop again. When at last Lenwë reached the cliff of black stone that rose abruptly from the plain, dawn was lightening the sky. He gazed up and up to the peak high above, grim satisfaction on his face, then leaned forward on the horse's neck and eased his leg across the croup with exquisite slowness. He did not drop lightly to the ground but eased down carefully, keeping hold of mane and saddle for the descent. It would not do to fall. Yet.

He stripped the horse of its gear, taking a small rag and wiping the sweat away, before laying everything out neatly like any good cavalry officer. He drew his sword for the last time, holding the blade up to the first rays of the sun, and caressing the runes carved into the blue steel. Another tiny rag, this one saturated with a thick oil, was rubbed over the blade as tenderly as ever a lover caressed a cherished cheek. He swept the weapon singing through the air, though he grunted in pain. He slid the sword gently into its scabbard and laid it next to the saddle and other tack. From the saddlebags he drew out a small pouch and placed two of the leaves within it under his tongue. He could take as many as he wished, for there was no reason to fear an overdose. With the pain killing leaves beginning to soften, he placed the pouch within his tunic and then walked to his horse. He bid him wait until he was found and gave a last thumping pat to the shining hindquarters. Then he turned to the mountain wall and the narrow ledge that led upward. As the sun rose above the trees, he began to walk slowly up the switchback trail, keeping one hand on the rock wall to his right.

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An hour after dawn, Legolas walked quickly to the healing hut, concerned that Nienor had not appeared at the kitchen to break his fast and take a tray back to Lenwë. Perhaps the elf's condition had worsened, though surely Nienor would have called for aid if that was the case. He opened the door and was surprised to see no movement at all within. He strode to the bed in the corner and saw at once that Lenwë was gone, while Nienor lay with closed eyes on the pallet beside the bed. Legolas knelt next to the younger elf and touched his shoulder. There was no response and fear swept the prince. He shook Nienor and pulled him up with one arm, slapping him when he merely snuggled against the prince. His eyes flew open at the blow, and Legolas felt his breath catch when he saw the enlarged pupils. Nienor gestured weakly. Legolas did not try to understand the vague movements but said sharply, "Lenwë is gone from the hut. What has happened here? Did you dose yourself last night? Or…" Legolas thoughts flew. "- did _he_ drug you?"

A fuzzy dismay had appeared on Nienor's face, and he struggled in Legolas' hold, wanting to see for himself that Lenwë was gone. Legolas helped him to his feet and steadied him as he felt desperately at the covers as though Lenwë could still be hiding there. He lurched upright and swayed drunkenly as he swept his gaze around the room. He grasped Legolas with both hands and his eyes shone with tears and panic.

Legolas wasted no more time on futile searches. "Where has he gone? Why would he – never mind, we must get to Aragorn. Come with me!" The prince hurried from the hut, his grip iron tight around Nienor's upper arm as he half-dragged the young elf who stumbled erratically in his wake.

The rangers were swiftly efficient. It was quickly ascertained that Lenwë 's horse was gone, with no trace of the elf in the encampment. Kenuric, alerted by the uproar in the camp, hurried to the horse pens to find Aragorn gathering his reins to mount. As the ranger settled in the saddle, the Healer spoke tensely. "If he drugged the young one, he intended to run from him. He may be riding faster than his wounds can tolerate."

Aragorn swayed as his horse shifted restlessly, eager to be gone. "That is all too likely. Be prepared for any contingency when we return." He glanced at Nienor, who was being aided to mount by Legolas.

Kenuric followed his eyes and nodded grimly. "I will be, though I pray you find him quickly."

Aragorn's horse leapt into a canter and led the small party from the corrals. Nienor rode with Legolas, sitting in front of him with one of the Mirkwood elf's arms tightly about him. Adrenaline was clearing the sleeping draught from his system, but he still had insufficient control of his limbs to ride alone. Fear clutched Legolas' heart as he nonetheless murmured soothingly, "It will be well, Nienor. We will find him; he cannot have gone far."

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Lenwë paused again in his climb. His breath whistled painfully and one hand was permanently pressed to his abdomen. With trembling fingers he drew the small flask Legolas had given him from his tunic, pushed back the stopper and took two quick sips. He slowly drew his hand away from the site of his wound and looked at it carefully. It glistened darkly red, and he smiled bleakly. He took a long draught from the flask and then returned it to its hiding place. He poked another leaf under his tongue and straightened up from the rough rock he had been leaning against. He felt a grim satisfaction as the miruvor thrilled through his veins, giving him the strength to continue. His plan was working well.

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The group of riders slowed as they reached the outermost perimeter of the camp guards. The replacement for the guard stood beside the young ranger who had spoken with Lenwë. He turned with surprise to his commander. "Lord Aragorn, what passes? We have had no word of attacks –"

"We are looking for the elf who is our guest – the one who is gravely wounded – he has taken his horse and left the compound."

"Aelwen was just telling me that he spoke to the elf not long after he came on watch." The man looked from Aelwen to Aragorn. "He did not stop him; he saw no need. Lord Lenwë told him he was going to ride the road."

"Aelwen did no wrong, but we are concerned for Lenwë's health. His decisions may not be entirely rational; he has been very ill. If he took the road, then that is the way we will also go."

The party reassembled, led by one of the foremost trackers in Middle-earth. Aragorn kept his eyes to the ground, but did not have to dismount to check for sign with fingers and tongue. Lenwë had not tried to hide his flight, and his pursuers rarely had need to drop below a gallop.

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Lenwë clung to a tall boulder like a lover, both arms surrounding it, with his cheek pressed against the surface. His breath came in shallow panting gasps, for any deeper breaths tore him with agony. It would be soon. He slid one hand carefully down his body until it reached the jointure of thigh and belly. He felt heavy wetness soaking his tunic; he might well be leaving a trail of it behind him by now. He had fallen twice while climbing over obstructions. That, and the constant steep climb, had tasked the newly settled wound beyond its limits. He felt one last flare of conscience as it told him in no uncertain terms that he might as well have stayed comfortably in camp and used a dagger – what he was doing was self-slaying just the same. In spite of his weakness, his chin rose defiantly. He was Lenwë – he would not die in his bed, helpless and gasping. He would meet death in his own way, at his own time. Nor would he chance being found too soon. Namo would have a few things to say about what he was doing, and he had no doubt increased his time in the Halls to a millennium, but the thought of Nienor calmed his doubts. Aragorn and Legolas would _have_ to care for him now. He had secured his dear friend's future in the only way he could think of, and his mind and heart were well content. Bleeding to death was not such a bad end; he had seen enough elves leave Arda in that manner that he knew what to expect. He pushed himself back off the rock and felt his tunic again, as well as his leggings. It was amazing how much blood an elf contained. He looked down over the cliff that marked where the trail switched back again. Tempting though the thought was, he could not simply walk off the edge; he would not chance his body being deformed or broken in a way that would cause Nienor more distress. This way, he would be as always, if a little more pale. He straightened to his full height in spite of the pain and walked onward; he did this for Nienor, and he would greet death with his head up. How impatient Namo would be to see him—he had cheated him long enough.

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By the time the search party reached the base of Carn Dum, Nienor had thrown off the effects of the tincture and was nearly beside himself with impatience. As the rangers and Legolas discussed what actions to take, and who would do what, and other completely unimportant matters, Nienor quietly crept toward the path that led upward. He instantly recognized the boot marks here and there on the rough stone of the path's surface and began to climb. Within moments he was half-jogging, in spite of the steepness of the trail. His feet loosened gravel which skidded downward, drawing the attention of those now below. "Aragorn! Nienor has started up the mountain!"

"We will be close behind him. But listen, all of you –" Aragorn raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. "- it has been long since anyone has maintained this trail. We wish to avert a tragedy, but we must go carefully. Legolas and I will start at once. The rest of you will follow as soon as you have made a litter." With that Aragorn spun on his heel and started for the trailhead, with Legolas close behind him.

After only a few minutes, Legolas called to Aragorn, "This is too rugged for Lenwë to traverse; he could not clamber over these obstructions without great harm. Perhaps we are wrong and he went another way."

Aragorn returned softly, knowing only Legolas could hear him, "Look down at the path, my friend. It takes no skilled tracker to see that Lenwë came this way. I begin to fear harm was his intent. He means to force our hands regarding Nienor."

Legolas stumbled on in grieving silence. They had misread both the depth of Lenwë's love for Nienor, and the lengths he would go to save him. Within a short time, mere moments perhaps, one of the Firstborn might leave Arda forever. Legolas caught up to Aragorn and leapt past the man easily. He sped on ahead, with Aragorn's shouts to take care trailing behind him.

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Nienor's mouth opened in a silent cry of fear and pain as he slid downward on his belly, along with a small avalanche of loose shale. His hands scrabbled for a purchase on more solid rock and just when it seemed he would shoot out into space the fingertips of one hand caught and held. He pressed his face into his arms as the remaining rock shards rattled by. He waited for a few long moments until all was still, then sprang up and scrabbled onward with just as much recklessness as before. His lips moved in silent curses and prayers, and his eyes held one part of hope to a hundred parts of despair.

A half an hour later, he was in a region where the trail became smooth stone which had been swept clean by rain and wind. Here he could see a dark ribbon that ran uninterrupted along his path. It was narrow but almost continuous, and was a dull black in the shadow of the mountain. The tiny spark of hope died and there was now only one goal: to hold, to touch, to succor through death; to bid farewell and promise a speedy reunion. He cast wild eyes to the sky and bloodied lips begged Namo to wait…to wait…to hold back for a few minutes more, so that he could arrive while life yet remained. Nienor's lungs labored, his legs ached and burned as he ran hard on this section of the trail, one that was seemingly designed for swift passage. Below him he heard shouts and calls, but they seemed far away and had no place in his world.

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Lenwë leaned against the rock wall, one hand wedged in a small crack and the other holding tightly to a small bulge in the otherwise smooth surface. He wanted dearly to let go, but the knowledge of the pain that would jar his body when he fell, as well as the certainty that he would not be able to rise again, kept him doggedly upright. His vision had blurred permanently some time ago, at the point where he had drunk the last of the miruvor. He knew it was important to keep going, although he had trouble remembering why. His heart thudded angrily, as though protesting the lack of fluid to send through its chambers, and he had been hallucinating for some time. Old friends and enemies all clamored for his attention, but he was tired - so very tired. The death that should have claimed him ten years ago was moments away. His mind lost all ability to control his body, and his fingers relaxed. He half-slid, half-fell down to the hard trail and came to rest upon his side. His mind, as though gaining strength now that it had little to do to maintain his body, cleared. The elves that milled about him disappeared. As his eyelids began to close, he heard, as though through cotton wool, feet scuffling and breath gasping beside him. Suddenly agony flared again, fierce and tearing, as his body was jolted and pulled up into well-known arms. He felt hot wetness fall upon his face, as frantic fingers gentled his hair and touched brow, lips, eyes, and jaw in fleeting, desperate, begging caresses. He smiled and whispered, "I did not want you to find me alive, but now…now I am happy to bid you farewell. Be at peace and do not grieve beyond all reason. Thank you for all you are and all you have meant to me, all you have done for me. You are the son of my heart, if not my body." A sudden louder cry, "Nienor!" then a fading whisper: "…live……please…….live….."

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Legolas turned from where he stood facing up the mountain and looked down to see how far behind Aragorn was. The trail was treacherous here and he did not want the man to climb through alone. Aragorn came huffing around the turnback just below the elf and began to call to him, when suddenly the air was rent with a screaming wail of loss; a howl, a shriek, a shuddering ululation that made the hair on the necks of all those on the mountain stand up in shivering horror.

Legolas' and Aragorn's eyes locked with realization and speculation. Legolas spoke first, shocked and disjointed. "Aragorn! What - Could it be –?"

Aragorn said hoarsely, "Nienor!"

"But how – he cannot – Ai! Elbereth!"

Aragorn slowly made his way to his friend and grabbed an arm, turning the body that moved stiffly in one piece, as though shock had frozen it. "It must be. Who else? Let us go on, but carefully." He sighed in anger and grief. "There is no reason to hurry now."

Legolas' head jerked around as he heard the rattle of stones and cursing down below them. "You should stay until your men catch up to you. Then come on alone; they should not…it will not be seemly for him to be seen so…I would not have him feel ashamed, later, when he comes to himself."

Aragorn hesitated and then nodded soberly. "I agree…the two of us can manage him and the men can go up later with the litter. Go on, then, and begin…it may take some time before we can coax him down…I will tell the rest what has happened, and that they are to wait here."

Legolas hurried up the path until the sound of sobbing came to his ears. He slowed before taking a deep breath and moving around yet another outcropping of the cliff wall. He saw a sight sadly familiar to any warrior of Mirkwood, but no less piercing for all that it had been seen before. Nienor knelt upon the trail with Lenwë's body in his arms. The older elf's arms fell slackly down to the path, and his head was cradled in one tender hand. Nienor's other arm was curled tightly about his friend, and his head was bowed upon the breast that no longer rose and fell. The limp wrists and fingers that lay upon stone moved with a semblance of life as Nienor's sobs shook them both.

Legolas stepped quietly behind Nienor and knelt close to his back. He laid one arm slowly and gently upon the heaving shoulders. Nienor gave no indication that he was aware of Legolas' presence, so the elder elf gradually tightened his grip, trying to impart comfort and strength to one so sadly riven. When, after long minutes, there was still no sign that Nienor knew of his presence, he decided to wait for Aragorn before making any further moves. He merely held the young elf while tears coursed down his own cheeks.

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Aragorn looked up the slope, and although he saw only what he expected to see, his heart ached for both Lenwë and Nienor. He came slowly up on the opposite side of Lenwë from Legolas and at first merely observed the grieving elf. Nienor's eyes were dark with sorrow and the bewilderment Aragorn had often seen in the newly bereaved. The physical sensations of grief are always a shock, even to those who think they are prepared for them. For a young elf who had been trying to deny this day would ever come, the pain was almost beyond bearing. Aragorn reached to gently place his fingertips against Lenwë's throat - he had to be absolutely sure the elf had died. His hand never reached its target as it was violently thrown aside by Nienor who glared at him with bared teeth that could not contain his high-pitched keening. The young elf shook his head violently, clutching Lenwë even tighter to his chest.

Aragorn turned his eyes to Legolas, and his own eyes burned at the sorrow he saw in his friend's face. He lightly touched one shoulder and Legolas met his eyes. Aragorn questioned with a raised brow and his friend nodded, then tightened his hold on Nienor's narrow shoulders. Aragorn said softly, "Nienor, I know that you want to stay here with Lenwë, but we must get the two of you down the mountain. Let me help you both by carrying him for you. I will treat him with all honor, I promise you."

As Aragorn expected, there was no response to his words, and so he moved his hands over Nienor's in order to loosen them. At the first touch Nienor shrieked and tried to stand with Lenwë still locked in his arms. When he could not gain his feet, he struck out with the clawed fingers of one hand at Aragorn's face. Legolas exerted more strength and forcibly pulled Nienor away. Aragorn did not look to see how Legolas faired, but caught Lenwë in his arms, settled the elf's body against him, and started down to meet his men. Nienor struggled like a wild thing, hissing, biting, and striking Legolas anywhere he could. Legolas kept his arms tightly wrapped around him and waited for the storm to pass. After long minutes, Nienor suddenly went still in Legolas' hold. His eyes were glassy and his breathing shallow. Legolas scooped him up and started after Aragorn, his burden unmoving, though it had not the limpness of unconsciousness.

The journey down the mountain seemed to take forever, and time and again the lives of the rescue party were endangered as the steep downward slope only multiplied every difficulty of the decayed trail. Only Legolas' agility and strength kept his feet under him, though he often slid or stumbled for terrifying seconds. Four men carried the litter to which Lenwë had been fastened, and they traded off with two others who were unburdened. In the most dangerous areas the litter was belayed, using boulders and the backs of the unencumbered men, so that if one or more of its bearers fell, there would be a hope of preventing the litter from plunging over the side of the trail.

Eventually the somber group found their feet upon the grassy, blessedly level surface of the plain that had brought them to the foot of Carn Dum. The men bearing the litter set it gently down and then unapologetically sat or lay on the ground, trembling with weariness and reaction. Aragorn followed Legolas some distance away from the rangers and helped lower Nienor, who simply sat as he had been placed, seeming to have no desire to move on his own. Legolas crouched before him and raised a hand to brush back the hair that had fallen forward to mask his face. Nienor did not flinch or startle, but instead seemed unaware that he was touched. His eyes were flat and dull, and his breath came slowly, a long pause coming between each inhale and exhale. Legolas turned to the man who knelt beside him, watching with narrowed eyes and a healer's concentration. "What should we do for him, Estel?" As often happened when he was troubled, the elf had reverted to the man's childhood name.

"There is little that can be done here. When we return to the encampment, I have herbs and other things that may ease him, a little. At least enough that he may find some few hours of escape in sleep. There is no real cure but time, as you know as well as I. Stay with him while I get a waterskin and a blanket. We must try to get some water into him and then keep him warm. His elven body will not aid him while he is so stricken."

The rangers rested for an hour or so, and then made preparations to travel home. A two-horse litter was constructed, and Lenwë's respectfully swathed body was loaded upon it. Legolas feared another outbreak from Nienor when his friend's body was handled, but the young elf now seemed oblivious to anything that went on around him. He made no protest when Aragorn handed him up to ride before Legolas, and the prince had to lean somewhat backward so as to allow Nienor's head to rest against his shoulder rather than loll helplessly at every motion of the horse they rode. Tired and heartsick, the rangers and elves began to slowly retrace the route that they had raced over previously, when they had still clung to hope.

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End Chapter 5

A/N Lenwe's plan of action was based on a real life incident. An elderly friend of my parents, finding that his brain tumor was untreatable, took a rank, untrained colt for a ride on a dangerous trail. He left a note saying he was not committing suicide but instead, letting 'nature take its course'. He was found dead at the bottom of a ravine. I do not condone his actions, but I can understand them. He had been a man of action all his life and he remained one in death, as did Lenwe.


	6. The Battle Begins

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**Chapter 6 - The Battle Begins**

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The somber party halted briefly at the horse corrals, then four horses moved on directly into the compound, stepping slowly past the communal fires and finally halting outside the healing hut. Kenuric came to the doorway at the sound of hoofbeats and his face tightened as his eyes swept over the litter with its swaddled burden, and the swooning elf in Legolas' arms. He stepped forward quickly to ease Nienor down, but was displaced by Aragorn who gently slid past him and received the young elf himself. The healer frowned but asked quietly, "Where shall we place him? Not where…"

Aragorn turned with Nienor his arms. "No. We will put him in the opposite corner."

Kenuric moved quickly into the hut. "I will place some screens so that he will not see the place where his friend lay." He moved to pull back the bedclothes from a bed and stepped back so that Aragorn could set down his woeful burden. Legolas stepped to the other side of the bed and began to remove Nienor's boots. When Kenuric's fingers moved to the latchings of the elf's tunic, Legolas pushed his hands aside, and began to undo them himself. Kenuric's brows snapped together, but he kept silent with an effort. Aragorn touched the healer's arm and indicated that they should speak outside. Kenuric followed the ranger, hoping that some of his questions would be answered.

Aragorn spoke quietly, his eyes moving between the dark doorway of the hut and Kenuric's face. "I will tell you all that occurred later, when there is more time. For now you need to know that Lenwë died in Nienor's embrace. Nienor has been in the state caused by great stress since then."

"I will fetch the strong restorative from my quarters – the one I keep locked away. I will be but a few moments – "

"Wait. The restorative, yes, we need that, but I must ask you again to let Legolas and I tend to Nienor."

"He will not let me touch the young one - why, Aragorn? The prince has let me treat him in the past."

Aragorn said bluntly, "You and he have never been…close…and he is now all elf, an elf who feels Nienor must be protected in his fragile state. When you trained in Imladris, did you see an elf fade?"

"No, though of course I have heard of such a thing. It is a death caused by grief, is it not?"

"Many times, although not always. But certainly in Nienor's case, if he fades it will be from grief. You must understand that elves think differently about this than we would in a similar case. Elves think of fading as something to be kept from the eyes of men. It is a private matter, between a few watching friends and loved ones, and the elf who wishes to depart."

"There is no wound? No disease that draws away his life? It is a choice, is it not?"

"In some sense, I suppose. I have not seen a fading since I was very young, though of course Lord Elrond and I have spoken of it many times."

"But – Aragorn, he is young and healthy; there is nothing wrong with him! Can we not do something? We cannot simply let him slip away!"

"I will try what I can do; I have no desire to see him pass from Arda. But you must let Legolas and I tend to him for now."

"Very well, but this is the second time you have kept me from my responsibilities."

"I know, and I am sorry. Just please bear with me – and Legolas – for a time."

"I will not object so long as you call upon me when you need respite, for I assume Nienor will need watching day and night."

Aragorn smiled, though it was only a bleak twist of lips. "Thank you. I am grateful for your offer and will see to it that Legolas will accept it as well, if needed."

Kenuric jerked his head in acknowledgment even as he started striding across the compound, his long fingers sorting through the keys depending from a braided cord at his waist with the ease of long custom.

Aragorn returned to the interior of the hut to find Legolas had stripped Nienor down to his linen. Together they slid the unresisting body into the bedclothes and gently covered him. His eyes stared sightlessly, and Legolas said in a choked whisper, "He is fading before our eyes, Aragorn. How will you keep him here? Is it even well done to intervene?"

Aragorn pulled Legolas a little aside and said firmly, "I am a healer. I will do as Lenwë wished and hold his friend here until he sees that life still has joy to offer him. As he will—as most do—no matter how fiercely grief gnaws them for a time." Aragorn turned back and tucked the blankets around his fair charge, then continued, "I have not seen him do it, but my father has told me of how he has kept elves alive who wished to depart, so I believe I know how to proceed."

Legolas spoke softly, but with much warmth in his voice, "Even without instruction, you managed to keep me here, do you remember? In spite of the fact that you drew me from everlasting bliss to unending frustration, trying to keep life in your heedless body!"

Aragorn smiled and gripped his friend by the shoulder. "Why so I did! It happened so long ago I had nearly forgotten! Thank you for the reminder; it is just what I need to give me confidence. If I can convince the most stubborn elf in the three kingdoms to remain, convincing Nienor will be a mere trifle!"

"Where will you put Lenwë? And should we – the weather is warm, we cannot keep him above ground or unburnt for long."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, his weariness settling heavily upon him. "For now, we will put him in the hut that is farthest from the clearing. We don't need it at the moment, with so many rangers out on sweeps. As to the other…I am hoping we can find out from Nienor what Lenwë would have wanted. I know you burn bodies in Mirkwood, to keep them from defilement. In Imladris, we bury them in a lovely garden maintained just for that purpose. I do not know what Lenwë would have wished." Aragorn again moved toward his patient, reluctant to take his eyes off the young elf for long. "He cannot be left for a moment. This trance-like state may end abruptly, and I would not have him face the first moments of realization alone and comfortless."

Legolas whispered from across the bed, "Let me watch him for a time while you get some rest. You will need it before you attempt to rouse him."

Aragorn agreed. "I will have some food sent to you before I claim my bed for an hour or so." He leaned down and pressed gentle fingers over Nienor's heart, while cupping a pale cheek with his other hand. "His pulse is steady and he no longer has the cold flesh which comes from great affliction. He will do for now, but send for me at once if there is any change." After a last glance at Nienor's staring eyes, Aragorn left the hut.

Legolas moved a chair quietly closer to the bed and took one of Nienor's hands into his own. He felt great pity for the young elf, and spent the next hours vacillating back and forth between a firm conviction that Nienor was too young and had tasted too few of life's pleasures to leave it so precipitously, and the equally firm conviction that forcing him to stay would be shamefully wrong.

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Later the same afternoon, Aragorn slipped quietly into the healer's hut and locked eyes with Legolas who still sat by Nienor's bedside. His friend shook his head slightly, and then rose and made room for Aragorn to take his place. As the man sat down he leaned forward, looking for any changes in the demeanor or condition of his patient. He found none. He closed his eyes and loosely clasped his hands in his lap, silently focusing his mind and will. Legolas moved to the other side of the bed and bent over the still form, pulling down the blankets and untying the cords that secured the well-worn linen shirt, spreading it gently open. After long minutes Aragorn raised his head and reached his right hand to hold it hovering the width of a knife blade over Nienor's heart, while his left hand hung suspended over the fair brow. His eyes closed again and his head tilted in an unconscious gesture of concentration. His breathing deepened and slowed, and the force he had gathered within himself began to flow into the grieving elf. He quested through darkness until he found the dimming threads of tarnished silver that were the visual representation of Nienor's spirit. The network, like a web running through his mind and body, brightened as Aragorn fed his power into it. Aragorn did not petition for acceptance, but with all the strength he possessed he forced the tarnish to lighten and begin to glow, muted though it was. He began to sing an ancient Quenyan song of healing, a soft croon that called to the elven soul before him. For even as Arda and all the works of Eru were created in song, so too were elves connected to the forces of creation through music.

For long, long minutes did Aragorn call to Nienor and send him the strength he needed to remain. Great drops of sweat gathered and ran, meandering down the healer's weathered face. His slow, smooth breaths quickened and found an uneasy rhythm. Three times Legolas reached out as though he would push the man away, but each time he could not quite bring himself to do it. Still Aragorn poured energy and will through his shaking hands, until at last Nienor's breathing began to match Aragorn's meter, fitful and rough.

Awareness slowly seeped into Nienor's eyes and Aragorn leaned back, slumping in exhaustion. Legolas was now the one to lean anxiously over the stricken elf and ask gently, "Nienor, are you with us again? Is there any way that I may serve you?"

Nienor's head turned, jerkily, as if on a rusty hinge, to gaze at the Mirkwood prince. His eyes—now dull, the rich color dimmed to a murky grey—questioned momentarily before they filled with searing pain with all the suddenness and impact of an arrow strike. Minutes passed, with Legolas stroking the hand that trembled in his before the pain was abruptly replaced with accusation and outrage. "Why?!" they demanded, and Legolas stuttered over an explanation. "Ar – Aragorn has more than mere skill in healing. He – we – agreed with Lenwë that you should not follow him to the Halls. Aragorn has brought you back to yourself…and us."

Nienor wrenched his hand away and his shapely mouth was clamped into a hard, thin line. He looked straight ahead and only anger and grief showed on his pale face. Legolas, due to his own doubts, hesitated over confident words and assurances, leaving it to Aragorn to straighten in his chair and state firmly, "You gave your word to Lenwë and we are merely helping you to keep it. As I am sure he told you, in time you will see the wisdom of his desires for you." He did not try to persuade the young elf further, knowing his words would fall on stony ground. Instead he took up a cup filled with an herbal liquid and offered it cautiously. "Let me help you to drink a little of this. It will relieve your thirst and calm you enough that you may fall into a healing sleep."

Nienor surprised him by nodding and raising his head a little, so that Aragorn could help him swallow a portion of the aromatic infusion. Aragorn believed this was a hopeful sign, but Legolas feared Nienor only wanted to escape into reveries that might show him and Lenwë together in earlier, happier times.

When, hours later, Nienor roused from reverie it was only to fall back into the previous trance-like state.

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After a se'nnight, Legolas was becoming increasingly frustrated with Nienor, Aragorn, and himself. Nienor's condition had not changed in the slightest degree: Aragorn could force him to some awareness and keep life in his body, but the grieving elf refused to take any steps toward recovery on his own. Aragorn was a shadow of his normally vigorous self, as the strain of draining his own vitality into Nienor took a greater and greater toll on the man's strength. As Aragorn tried shakily to stand after compelling another draught of will and power into Nienor, Legolas found he had made up his mind and heart. Rather roughly grasping the man's elbow, he hauled him upright and kept a steadying hand in place as they walked from the hut. Legolas pushed Aragorn into his hut, and removed the man's surcoat before setting a hand firmly on his chest and sending him thumping down onto his bed. Next he pulled off the man's boots and covered him with a thin blanket, scolding all the while. "This cannot continue, Aragorn. You can barely walk across the compound; what if there is a call to arms this day? Nienor refuses to come to terms with his loss, and you will kill yourself trying to keep him here. You must – " The elf broke off when a soft snore caught his attention. He hissed in frustration, but could not keep a gentle hand from tucking the quilt up around his friend. He whispered, "You and Nienor are the two most stubborn beings on Arda, and I am caught between you. I cannot foresee a pleasant end to this, for any of us." Desperately needing time away from the fraught situation Legolas asked Kenuric to watch Nienor for a few hours, then took himself off to the butts. It was later recorded in at least two rangers' journals that on that day Legolas—paragon among archers—broke two bowstrings while doing elementary drills.

Kenuric, also worried about Aragorn, was more than willing to help reduce the hours the man needed to be in attendance at the elf's bedside. He was the only healer in the camp with any firsthand knowledge of elves, and therefore willingly took on what would normally be an apprentice's task. As he sat by the still form, he found himself torn with indecision for the first time in many a year. He was the Chief Healer of the rangers, and as such, had a responsibility for maintaining a sufficient number of well-trained healers in the various outposts and villages. He himself preferred the solitude of the northern lands, but he kept the more populous villages well-staffed. His other responsibilities included research into new medicaments and treatment methods—something for which there was never enough time or resources—and the maintenance of healthy, pestilence free encampments. There was one additional duty that he took very seriously, even though it was not spelled out in any charter or roster: seeing to the health and general welfare of the Chieftain of the Dunedain.

Kenuric's concern for Aragorn allowed a little notion to slither stealthily into his mind. It would be so easy for the ranger to let this elf depart. Aragorn had only to withhold the strength he imparted to Nienor for one or two days. The elf would then travel to the Halls and Aragorn would quickly return to his normal self - almost indecently energetic and healthier than any man had a right to expect. Even as that traitorous thought whispered seductively his mind, the born-and-bred healer in him was outraged.

He gazed upon the young elf before him, one of the Firstborn, for whom he had never lost his awe. If the elf were human he would seem to be in his late teens or early twenties. Although obviously an adult, he still had a frame that was a little narrow through the shoulders, and his eyes still had a touch of innocence and eagerness that in an older elf would became serenity and acceptance. If he were a man he would just be coming into his own in some trade, ready to rise to journeyman. Or he might want to become a warrior. He would be thinking of marriage—or not, if he chose to keep himself unfettered. The roads of life would be spreading before him in a hundred directions, merely waiting for his choice. To end the life of a man, elf, or any being, just as it began to fulfill its promise, was anathema to Kenuric. For him to even consider such a thing made his blood seem to run widdershins, and he was overtaken by a coughing fit as if his body sought to expel the subversive thoughts. No. He could not betray his oath or allow Aragorn to betray his. He would encourage the man to take better care; he would stuff him with sustaining food and strengthening elixirs, even tie him to his bed if necessary. But he would not encourage Aragorn to abandon this elf to death if he could prevent it.

When Aragorn entered the healing hut to renew his attempt to recall Nienor to the fullness of life, Kemuric stood and motioned for the man to precede him back out the door. Outside, in the cool of the evening, Kenuric cast a quick glance around the clearing to insure they would not be overheard. "Aragorn, let me stay with him this night. You need to sleep from moonrise to sunup, not snatch an hour or two here and there."

Aragorn ran his hand around the back of his neck, and Kenuric's lips thinned—the man never gestured in quite that way unless he was near the end of his strength. Aragorn looked away from the healer's face and said quietly, "I may have time enough to sleep soon. I have been thinking that perhaps I am wrong to try to force Nienor to remain."

Kenuric was many things, some unpleasant, but a hypocrite was not among them. "Come, Aragorn. Come and sit on the bench with me." When the two were seated together, Kenuric continued, "I will not deny that the same thought has crossed my mind. I tell you freely that my main concern is not for that young elf, however much pity I may feel for him, but for you."

Aragorn tried to remonstrate, but Kenuric made short work of him. "You can barely stand, and your eyes glitter as if with fever."

"I think I am healer enough to know my own condition –"

"You certainly should be, after all the hours Lord Elrond and I have put into training you! I was about to say that although I am very concerned for you, on reflection I cannot in all good conscience allow you to simply walk away from him. The only thing between him and a reconciliation with life is time. Even if it takes much time for his grief to ease. Aragorn, please listen well, for I will not say this again. We have spoken little of the time when you pulled me from my heart's winter, and the reasons why my soul was bitterly cold."

Aragorn turned to Kenuric with concern. He kept his gaze fixed on the austere older man's face as the healer looked down at his tightly clasped hands. Knowing Kenuric, he guessed that the clasp was intended to hide a tremble the man would find shameful. "I am listening; say what you will, and I will heed you."

"You met me nearly twenty years after your father's death. You saw in me anger, bitterness, and cruelty as I tried to repay the grim hand fate had dealt me. You helped me come to terms with my grief and for that I have never thanked you enough. But you did not see me the week after his passing. Put my features on Nienor and you are looking at me as I was. I sought oblivion, not in reverie, but in strong drink. When I was forced to abandon my stupor, it was like coming out of a dark cave where I felt nothing, and walking into a wall of fire. There are no words to describe the grief of such a loss, no words at all. We say it burns, it rends, that our hearts 'break', but these words pale beside the reality of the pain. And the loneliness – Ai, gods! I feel it still, an aching void where Arathorn once smiled, laughed, and damn it, loved me! Your mother was in similar straits, but we were not able to console each other, since you were taken to Imladris immediately. What I am trying to say is this: if we had not been attacked again, and I had not had to stir myself to save the men—your father's men—I think I would have died. You know why, and we will not cover old ground again. It is enough to say that a man like me finds few friends who will put up with him. Only one in those days, in my case. But Aragorn, I am so glad I did not die! I am so thankful that, though it took twenty years to be healed of that wound, the healing finally came. I now wake each morning with eagerness for the day ahead. I have my position, my patients, my research, and yes, son of Arathorn, even new friends. I say again: I am glad I did not die. I was in no fit state to make such a choice then, and neither is Nienor. Who knows what blessings such a one will bring to this world, if you can convince him to tarry here? And what joys he will yet find?"

Aragorn looked into glistening eyes, and his own stung. "And what fellowship others may find in his company, and what he may teach them? I would not have missed knowing you for the world, Kenuric. I will think long and hard on your words." He stood and placed a hand firmly on the shoulder next to him. "I believe I will accept your offer and go to my bed. Thank you, pen golwen."

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End Chapter 6

A/N:

Pen Golwen – wise one

The story of the time Aragorn saved Legolas from fading is in "Buried: Ascension". It is part III in the "Buried" series.


	7. Aragorn and Legolas

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**Chapter 7- Aragorn and Legolas**

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The next evening, Legolas and Aragorn met together just at the door of the healing hut. Legolas stood before the man and spoke suasively. "Before you go to Nienor, I would like to speak with you alone."

"Not now. I need to relieve Kenuric."

"I spoke with him earlier; he will stay with Nienor until we return. Please, Aragorn. I know that you have spoken with Kenuric and what he would have said to you. As the only other elf here, it is only right that you listen to me, before you make a decision about Nienor's fate.

Aragorn's expression became, if possible, more weary and careworn. "You have not spoken much since this ordeal began, yet I know what you would say. I cannot listen: I am a healer. Would you have me forsake my oath to my father and to my craft?"

In spite of his words, Aragorn let himself be led away, some distance into the deeper forest. He allowed his friend to push him down until he was seated on a log. As Legolas began to pace slowly back and forth before him, Aragorn found a small smile from somewhere deep within; somewhere untouched by the present tension between two who were as close as brothers. "Speak, then, Legolas, and I will hear you. You have always had my best interests at heart, even when I have disagreed with your council."

Legolas' mouthed curved in the beautiful smile he saved for his close friends and family. With a sense of shock Aragorn realized he had not seen that smile since long before two wandering elves had come into their lives. He determined that once Nienor was saved, he and Legolas would have another talk—a long one—and he would discover what was troubling his obdurate friend.

Aragorn's words reassured Legolas and he began, speaking softly and without intensity, the better to persuade the man. "You know that I respect your healing gift and the oath you have sworn. Yet you do not always strive to keep life within the shell of flesh, when souls are ready to fly. I have seen you bid the elderly to find their rest, and I have seen you give sweet oblivion with your poppy syrup to those in agony, whom no tending or care could tether to this world. I have never seen you take a life—or hasten death—as a healer, but I have seen you hold back when you could force life to continue."

Legolas' tempered approach had an effect, for Aragorn did not reply in anger. "What you say is true. But there is a vast difference between a ninety-year-old grandmother with a failing heart, and a hale young elf who has not even reached his prime. Grief does not go on forever; in time its talons release their grip. Look at my father! He lost his parents while yet a child. He lost his brother, his king, his wife, and more, yet he still inhabits Middle-earth, and where would we be without him? Sauron would have triumphed long ago, if Elrond had not tarried to fight him. His life is rich, filled with the respect of all this world, good friends, and sons who love him dearly."

Legolas stopped his pacing and came to kneel at Aragorn's feet, taking the man's hands into his own. "Is Nienor an Elrond? Am I? There cannot be two of such mettle in all of creation. Do you condemn Celebrian for sailing? For deserting her children and seeking to ease her pain?"

Aragorn sucked in a harsh breath, for Legolas' words struck hard. He frowned and hesitated over his answer. "The Lady Celebrian suffered sorely at the hands of evil, and…and –"

"Yes?"

Aragorn whispered in defeat, "Not all have the hardiness to bear such great sorrow and pain…Adar ever defends her decision; I can do no less."

"Here is something else to think on: if Nienor remains in Arda, what will become of him? Only Lenwë could understand all his gestures. He is intelligent and educated; he cannot spend his life with conversations of 'yes' and 'no' and little more. We cannot take Lenwë's place, even if we wish it, for dangers snap at our heels like starving wolves, and I do not see that changing anytime soon. Why save him now, only to have him fall under an orc's blade? As for Imladris, do not misunderstand me, but I do not think Elrond will wish for such a burden at this time, while Nienor will be intimidated by the austere elf he has become in recent years."

"Nienor is no burden!" Aragorn grasped desperately at the only point he could argue with.

"No, of course not; I should not have spoken so. But he will take up someone's time and require care in handling that perhaps only Elrond can provide. But you try to lead me from my point. If you hold him here, you must have a plan to help him beyond a fortnight or two. What is that plan, Aragorn?"

When his question was met with silence, Legolas continued, "What of his voice? We have heard him make sounds – his screams will haunt my dreams for yen to come! We know now he is _not_ mute. But he has made no more noise with his mouth since we returned from Carn Dum. Do you know how to teach him speech again? Assuming he ever spoke before, that is? Mandos' Halls are held in dread by those with fell deeds to answer for, but Nienor – I have never known a soul so innocent and loving. Namo will send him quickly on to Valinor, where he will remember those things which were rent from him. His family will be there, along with many others to help him, including the Valar themselves."

Aragorn stood abruptly and turned his back to Legolas. "You are right. I have no plan to care for him, and I know nothing of how to teach him to speak again." Suddenly he spun around, anger blazing in his eyes. "But I. Am. A. HEALER! I cannot let a healthy, young elf fade while I have power to prevent it!!" He stood shaking, panting, his eyes wild with emotion.

Legolas stared at the man's ferocity, his eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. He crept toward Aragorn like a predator, slowly, feet moving silently, eyes fixed on Aragorn's own. "Why so angry, my friend? You have only known Nienor for a month, and he is not of the type to draw you, except as compassion bids. You would not seek his close friendship in normal times. Why does this one elf's fading trouble you so?"

Feeling strangely panicked, Aragorn stepped backward to match each footfall of the elf before him. "The death of any of the Firstborn…"

A hiss. "No! You have thought little of Lenwë since he trod the White Road."

"We have been busy with Nienor, and besides, Lenwë was not fading –"

"Ah, now we come to it! You cannot bear to think of an elf fading, can you? Though you have seen them die in battle, and been no more moved than I at the tragedy!"

Aragorn's retreat was stopped by a massive tree-trunk. His heels dug into the ground in a futile attempt to escape Legolas. The elf smiled for soon now, very soon, he would press just a little harder and all would spill forth. All that was standing between them, and had been for some time.

Aragorn spoke rapidly, eyes fixed on the forest floor. "It is a terrible thing for an elf to fade; for _any_ elf to fade. I – I can deal better with death in battle; it is the common lot of any soldier, be he man or elf." Aragorn whispered, "I cannot bear to see an elf fade."

Enlightenment struck Legolas with blinding force as the last piece of the perplexing puzzle fell into place. He whispered in turn, afraid to disturb the man's preoccupation. "Why?"

Aragorn shook his head and did not speak. Legolas continued, "One night as I went to check on Lenwë, I saw a vision. I saw not an ancient elf, but an old man, a king of men, lying upon a bier, clasping his mighty sword by the hilt. I saw not an elf barely out of childhood, but an elf of many years, grieving for the man who lay there. I saw my future, Aragorn. What if my grief is as great as Nienor's? How can it not be, heart's brother? How can it not be infinitely greater? I will be as Nienor; that is your fear, is it not?"

"No..." Aragorn whimpered like a wounded beast.

Legolas pressed hard now, his voice rising, "You think that by saving Nienor, you are saving me! That if you succeed in holding him here, you can believe that I may be held as well! Admit it, Aragorn!"

The man slid down the trunk in an ungainly sprawl. When Legolas knelt before him, Aragorn's face seemed cleared of all emotion and he began to speak in a dull, flat voice that chilled the elf. "It was that time at The Crossing in Eriador. I had not been wounded so badly since our wandering days. True, I had taken many injuries, but all were such that you could tease me for clumsiness in battle. None brought me to death's door, knocking. In our early days together, though I had been near death, I had not truly believed…I was too young and foolish to _understand_ that I could be gone in the space of a breath. Then, when I opened my eyes after days of insensibility, I saw you sitting by my bedside, sobbing."

Legolas flushed slightly, high color blooming over his cheekbones, but he looked Aragorn straight in the eye and said gravely, "I was told you would die within hours; that there was no chance that you would recover."

"I take a deal of killing, it seems. They told me you had not eaten nor rested since I fell. You looked worse than I did. They said you had begun fading and I could not deal with it. I went cold inside, and have stayed frozen ever since. I know you have noticed that something was wrong, and I am sorry to trouble you. Yet again, I have caused you sorrow. I _am_ sorry, but you must tire of my saying that."

Legolas let his constrained breath go in a long whoosh of relief. It was bad, but not so bad as he had feared. He enfolded the man in his arms and pressed the bowed head to his shoulder. "Ah, Estel. Long ago we spoke of these things, and I thought you were resigned to the pain our friendship would bring to us both. Perhaps it is easier for me, since I faced the reality of your death when you were but a child. Do you remember how hard I fought against you?" He smiled at a fond memory. "I fought like a trout on a line, twisting and struggling, but you were an irresistible force, already stubborn as the day is long, and you would not leave me in peace to a future without your friendship. I looked into your face and saw the same vision I saw in the healing hut. However, I also knew there would be many years of sharing and happiness and warmth and laughter, all at the side of that little manling. I do not regret my choice, Aragorn. I cannot believe that I will regret it when the time comes that you must leave me behind. But you must leave me my choice of ending, Estel. I may tarry here in Arda yet awhile, or I may sail, or I may fade. For love of you, I say that at this time I have no intention of fading, but I will give no empty promise. You must not live in fear of something that may never happen."

"I do not want to be responsible for your death. It may claim you against both our wills; we know that—we are warriors. But for me to be the cause! I cannot bear the thought of it."

"Here is the truth, Aragorn: you may be the cause of my fading. As you have been the cause of my _living_, time and again." Legolas pushed Aragorn a little away from him and looked directly into his eyes. He drew upon the famed courage of the elves of Mirkwood and said, "I have been very selfish, Estel, for I have thought that I have the greater price to pay. For although you _could_ lose me, I _will_ lose you. I have been, from the beginning, willing to pay that price. But you claimed me as friend when you were still a child, not truly knowing what you did. Now you are a man and have been for some years. But I have never asked… have never thought to ask…if you are still willing to pay the price for our friendship, now that you not only know, but understand, what it will mean for you. I think perhaps you are now not so willing, that you regret the rashness of the child you were. That would explain the reaction you had to seeing my grief when I nearly lost you. That would explain why you have felt 'frozen' as you have said." He reached out and touched the wet cheek before him, his voice soft as he continued, "There is no shame in this, Estel. We recklessly make decisions when we are young, having no understanding of where they will lead us. Some of them we regret. I can leave you and return to Mirkwood. I can remain there until the war is won, your rule is over, and you have passed beyond the Circles of the World. If it will make your hard road any easier, I can disappear from your life. I can become merely a memory, distant and sweet."

Aragorn was still for a few moments as several scenes played out in his mind. He walked the deep woods alone, longing for a presence he had thought would always be there. He battled the forces of darkness, but no Silvan elf was by his side. He took Arwen's hand from Elrond, but only dark-haired elves stood at his shoulder as vows were exchanged. As he imagined his life without the Prince of Mirkwood in it, he began to chuckle, and then to laugh. Aragorn raised his head, still laughing, as more tears ran down his cheeks. Legolas watched him with uncertainty, worried his probing had unhinged his friend after all he had been through in recent days. Aragorn saw his expression and laughed louder, leaning his hands on his knees. Gaspingly he explained, "Forgive me! It is just that the answer is so _simple_ – what was I thinking? All these months, cold and sealed away from you, and all I needed to do was think of my life without you in it. I am the foolish human you say I am, a hundred times over!" He lay back on his elbows, continuing to chuckle at his own folly, until at length he had caught his breath. He started to struggle to his feet, pulling a shocked Legolas with him.

The elf shook his head in disbelief and then began to speak, his voice rising in volume and passion. "That is all? The answer is so simple? We have spent months at cross-purposes! I have tried again and again to talk to you about this and now – and _now_ - you say it is so simple?!"

Aragorn tipped his head and peered at his friend through his veiling hair. He smiled coaxingly, but Legolas stepped back, holding up a hand. "Do not think – do not _dare_ to look at me with those fox kit eyes! It may have worked when you were thirteen, but – Estel! Stop that!"

The man batted his eyelashes outrageously at his exasperated friend. Then, like quicksilver, his demeanor changed and he stepped forward to grasp the suede clad shoulders. With utmost sincerity he said, "Forgive me, my friend, for my mirth. I do not think I can explain to you how I feel. It is as though I have been loosed from a prison I did not even know held me caged. Forgive me yet again for not listening to you, for not understanding the distress I caused you. Hear me, Legolas: I will try to accept that my passing will cause you grief, and that there is nothing I can do to change that. I will learn to accept that to attempt to forestall your grief is to negate what we have been, are, and will continue to be to each other."

Relief swept over the elf and he clasped the wrists that held to his shoulders. "That is well." He drew in a long, deep breath and let it out shakily, saying again, "That is well. Although, I cannot help feeling that a little candor on your part would have saved both of us a great deal of anxiety!"

Aragorn cuffed him lightly and then turned toward the camp. "No doubt, but I just realized I am famished! All these distraught outpourings have given me an appetite!"

Running together, the two made their way to the kitchen. And if they laughed a bit too loudly and a bit too long in relief at all being made right between them, they were not inclined to examine themselves any further that night.

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The next morning, Legolas was waiting for Aragorn by the healing hut. He stood leaning against the wall close to the door, one ankle crossed over the other, with his hands curled gently by his sides. Aragorn marveled anew at the total stillness he could maintain, which allowed him to nearly disappear into the wall behind him. The elf waited until Aragorn was a mere spear length away before straightening and pulling away from the hut. Legolas was pleased to see that Aragorn's smile was open and warm, showing in his eyes as well as curving his mouth; truly they had put their darksome thoughts behind them.

Legolas moved a short distance from the hut, forcing Aragorn to turn with him. Without preamble the elf said, "Yesterday we came to an understanding about the trouble that has been between us. However, our discussion began with the subject of Nienor. Caught up as we were with our own concerns, we did not discuss him further last night. What do you intend to do, Aragorn?"

"I do not know. My mind pulls one way, and my heart another. It seems forever since I have known a moment's peace."

"You cannot let this situation continue. Soon you will _have_ to let Nienor go, if only because your own strength will fail. It you intend to hold him, you must somehow get him to agree, to take some part of the burden of his living from your shoulders."

"I know!...I know….I will make up my mind by this time tomorrow. Now, please, no more, Legolas, for I am at my wits' end, and…"

"Easy, my friend—my brother—I will not plague you again. Why not let me take your place this morning, that you may go out with the patrol? You should get away from the atmosphere that hangs around this hut like a shroud. I will send word at once if there is any change in Nienor's condition."

The man hesitated, then smiled again. "I will accept your offer. You are right – I need some time away so that my mind may be clearer and my thoughts more fruitful than they have been of late. Thank you, Legolas."

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That evening, Aragorn walked slowly toward the healing hut, his pace reflecting the turmoil in his mind. His day away had brought no answers and he was in no hurry to return to the cause of his indecision. However, he suddenly broke into a run as a alarming sight met his eyes. Standing a few feet from the closed door, Kenuric and Legolas were poised in unmistakable postures of conflict. Their voices were subdued, but hissing with emotion. Kenuric stood leaning forward, arms fisted at his sides, vibrating with tension; a posture with which Aragorn was all too familiar. Legolas, on the other hand, stood absolutely straight, with his arms folded across his chest. Even though his blue eyes were blazing with anger, his posture and expression were insolently calm. Aragorn knew well how infuriating that assumption of superiority could be, and he could hardly imagine anything more likely to inflame Kenuric to fury. As he neared the combatants, their words became intelligible.

"It is an abomination! I will not allow it! I will not allow Aragorn to pervert the healing arts that are under _my_ authority here!"

One shapely eyebrow rose. "Surely _you_ are under the authority of the Chieftain of the Dunedain!"

"_I_ am the rangers' Master Healer, and I say again, I will not allow it!"

"How can you make decisions about something of which you are woefully ignorant? How dare you presume to dictate life and death to the Firstborn?"

Aragorn groaned. Legolas had never completely put aside the prejudices of his youth. Prejudice that was rooted in tragic circumstances, and that the elf had fought hard to overcome. Most of the time he did very well, working and fighting with men and making friends with a chosen few. But when he was very angry with a man, the prejudice reared its head again. And now it was focused on the one person in camp least likely to deal with it well. When faced with conflict, Kenuric escalated it. Every time. With great enthusiasm.

Aragon, exhausted and worried by the events of the last month, felt a momentary temptation to let the two fight themselves to a stand-still. Gritting his teeth, he gathered the tattered remains of his strength and restraint, and thrust his body between the two disputants. Legolas stepped back at once, smiling wryly at the expression of unadulterated exasperation on his friend's face. He held up both hands in a soothing gesture as he mouthed, "I am sorry, Aragorn."

After giving the elf a glare as pointed and sharp as a dagger, Aragorn turned to face the healer. Before Kenuric could formulate a stunning censure of Legolas' character, motives, and morals, Aragorn said sternly, "I will not have those in positions of trust and authority brawling about this encampment! If you cannot debate in a reasonable fashion, I suggest you remain in your cabin!"

Kenuric sputtered in rage, but a guilty flash in the pale blue eyes satisfied Aragorn that his words were heard. Aragorn stepped away so that both the elf and healer had to turn to look at him. He continued in a voice so laden with weariness that concern overcame the last of the anger in the two before him. "You both have spoken with me, and I am well aware of your feelings and thoughts pertaining to Nienor. Further, there is much to be said for _both_ positions. I am trying to do what is best. When the two of you are at each other's throats, you are not making the situation any easier for any of us. The men can feel the tension, and I cannot deal with….it is too much….I cannot…." The man trailed off and walked to the door of the hut and entered.

The healer and elf stared as the door was firmly shut against them. Slowly they turned to meet each other's gaze. Legolas spoke first. "I apologize for causing a disturbance outside your place of healing. Some of my words were beyond the pale, and I ask you to forgive me for Aragorn's sake. I do not retract my reasons for believing it is wrong to force Nienor to stay when he wishes to depart, but I let my emotions run away with me, and said things I truly regret. I have great respect for you, and for all you have done for the Dunedain."

Apologies did not come easily to Kenuric, so at first his words were bitter on his tongue. Yet as he forced them from his mouth, he found they were sincerely meant, and his anger eased. "Very prettily spoken for one who surely has had little practice; I doubt one with your nature has much need to apologize. I, on the other hand, should be more far more practiced than I am. Nonetheless, I am sorry that my temper once again took precedence over my reason."

Legolas gracefully accepted Kenuric's words, and taking the man by the arm as gingerly as one picks up a hedgehog, began a conversation on less controversial matters. The healer was grateful for the elf's lenity, and willingly walked with Legolas as they crossed the compound in the direction of the fire and the evening meal. They were not friends, nor ever likely to be so, but they both cared deeply for Aragorn and each silently determined that he would do nothing to add to the young chieftain's burdens.

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End Chapter 7


	8. The Choice

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**Chapter 8 – The Choice**  
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For what seemed to him the thousandth time since two strange elves had entered the rangers' camp, Aragorn quietly left the healing hut, gently closing the door behind him. He moved slowly to the bench set against the southern wall, gazing up through the openings in the treetops that allowed him to see the stars. He stood irresolutely for a few moments, then sank down upon it. He cradled his face in his hands, his elbows digging painfully into his knees. His thoughts circled endlessly, but he told himself sternly that there must be no more dithering. He had to make a decision. He knew both sides of this thorny quandary all too well. Over and over again, he heard Kenuric's and Legolas' voices debating passionately, endlessly echoing in his mind regardless of his attempts to silence them.

//I am glad I did not die, Aragorn. I was in no fit state to make such a choice and neither is Nienor.//

//You have no right! He wishes to depart, and his reasons are far more compelling than the ones that I had long ago, when you held me here through your will alone.//

//I greet each day eagerly, though it was long until I was able to do so. I have my patients, my research, my position, my _friends_.//

//Do you know how to teach him to speak again? Does anyone? Who will care for him? There are few of the Old Ones available to take Lenwë's place!//

//Who knows what blessings he will bring to our world if he tarries? What joys he may yet know?//

//Mandos halls will not hold one such as he for long. His innocence and purity of spirit will mean that he will find Valinor long before Lenwë. Let the Valar heal him as you cannot; let his family welcome him and care for him as we cannot.//

His own voice joined the debate//I would not have missed knowing you for the world, Kenuric.//

Aragorn raised his head and stared blindly into the heavens as the battle in his mind raged on. After many long minutes, one star out of millions pulled his attention. It shone very brightly and Aragorn sighed deeply to see that so much time had passed that Earendil sailed the sky. As his eyes fixed on his long ago ancestor, he thought of another, not much nearer in blood, but far dearer to his heart. "Adar," he whispered, "What would you do if you were here? How I wish you were! How I wish I could turn this burden over to your strong shoulders, as I so often brought you the troubles of my childhood. I wish you were sitting beside me, stroking your chin with your fingers, your brow furrowed. Then, after what would seem to me to be forever, you would turn to me and say, 'This is my counsel, my son.' I would feel such peace sweep over me as your measured words would show the solution clearly, free of my muddled thinking and emotional frettings. I miss you often, Adar, but never so much as tonight, when I must make my decision ere the sun rises."

Perhaps Elrond's father took pity on his descendant, for Aragorn felt a hand on his shoulder. He felt well-known fingers pressing firmly into his flesh, as they had done before he left to take up his Chieftainship. He heard words whisper through his mind, stilling the clamor within. At the time they were originally spoken, the words had been but one piece of earnest advice out of hundreds offered by a wise leader and loving parent. But now he remembered—or heard—them clearly. "You must listen carefully to Halbarad and others who have experience and wisdom. You must weigh their words diligently, especially where their advice differs from your own inclination. However, you must also remember the mantle is yours and yours alone. When you have considered the possible positions and ramifications, you must make your decision and stand by it. I know you, Estel. I trust your judgment. I trust you to do what is best, given the information you have to hand. Now _you_ must learn to trust yourself."

As dawn lightened the sky, Aragorn beckoned to a passing ranger, sending him with a message asking both Legolas and Kenuric to attend him. His lips were firmly set and his eyes were filled with determination.

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When Kenuric and Legolas stood tensely before him, he spoke without preamble. "I am going to take some rest and then, this afternoon, I intend to bring Nienor to full awareness. I will then present him with a choice. I will abide by his decision."

Kenuric made an abortive gesture of protest, but dropped his hand back to his side. Aragorn turned his eyes to meet the healer's with no small amount of trepidation. The sight of the emotionless, cold mask, which he had not seen since their early days together, saddened him but his gaze did not flinch. "I am sorry if you are angry or disappointed in me, Kenuric, but I will follow this course."

Kenuric words fell like shards of flint: hard and cold, with sharp edges. "As you please, Lord Aragorn. Is it your wish that I keep his deathwatch - for I think we all know the choice he will make."

Sharp white teeth worried Aragorn's lower lip. "I would never ask that of you, knowing how you feel." He paused, then lifted one hand in a gesture of supplication. "Kenuric, please –"

"If there is nothing further, Lord Aragorn, I have duties to attend to."

The hand fell to Aragorn's side as he shook his head. Kenuric spun and stalked away.

Legolas mused, "Does he ever just walk? I have seen him flounce, stride, stomp, glide, strut, and –"

"Not now, Legolas! Elbereth's breath! The man thinks I am committing the worst crime I can be accused of! He is hardly likely to be pleased!"

"A healer should be above adding to the burdens you carry! What of his own oath, if he is so concerned for yours?"

Aragorn sighed. "You do not understand him, and if you are honest, you have never really tried to. He has come a long way, Legolas, through great pain and loneliness. And do not bother to say much of it was his own fault! He is well aware of that."

Legolas shook his head as though to clear it. "Forgive me, Aragorn. I have never understood your rather strange relationship with him, but now is most certainly no time to speak of it. About Nienor—you will truly allow him to make this choice?"

"I think so, yes. But if he chooses to fade, he must tell me that it is his decision, and he must be fully within himself when he does so. I will not simply let him go as he is now."

"I know this is hard for you – very hard. I also think it is the right thing to do, and I will help you in any way I can."

"And if he chooses to stay?"

"Then I will help to ensure his future is as bright as may be. But...if he wanted to stay he would not be in the state he is now. You know what his decision will be."

"I know what I _think_ it will be. Can you fetch Arvel to watch him for a few hours?"

"Yes, my friend. Go to your hut and I will send water for washing, and bring you something to eat. You will need all the strength you can muster."

Legolas was as good as his word and better. Soon he was pushing a bowl of thick soup, enriched with a double portion of meat, into the ranger's hands as he sat on his bed. When that was finished he gave him a mug of wine mulled with herbs to encourage rest. When Aragorn at last lowered his head into his pillow, he expected the elf to silently leave the tiny hut. Instead, Legolas sank down to the floor, settling himself comfortably with crossed ankles, leaning against the wooden bedpost. He began to hum, and after a time to sing. He sang songs of Aragorn's childhood; the lullabies sung to all children in Imladris. The man's lips quirked wryly and he said quietly, "I do not need you to sing me to sleep; I am no longer a child."

Just as softly came the response. "I know." Legolas continued to sing softly in a lilting tenor, the phrases seeming to curl gently through the room, making beautiful patterns on the back of Aragorn's eyelids. When the man fell asleep, it was with a lighter heart than for many a long, weary day.

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Legolas and Aragorn walked together toward the healing hut, not speaking, each lost in his own thoughts. Aragorn's eyes were the dark, turbulent grey of storm clouds as he wrestled one last time with his healing vows. He opened the door of the hut and stepped within, Legolas close behind him. As they entered, Arvel stood from his chair by Nienor's bed and whispered, "Good morning, Lord, Prince Legolas. There has been no change since last night."

Aragorn nodded. "Thank you, Arvel. I rested well, knowing he would be carefully tended. Visit the kitchen, and then seek your own bed. You are excused from your duties until tomorrow." With one last sorrowful glance at Nienor, Arvel took himself off. Aragorn and Legolas soon heard his cheerful whistle carrying across the compound, as the young man put any gloomy thoughts behind him. The two shared a look of wry amusement, as though to say, "Were we ever that young?" before turning to the bed and the tormented elf that lay there. All amusement was gone as Aragorn grimly sat himself in the familiar chair. With revulsion for his task darkening his mind, he found it hard to gather his healing power, for it thrived on both his will and his belief that he meant only good to his patients. After long minutes had passed, Legolas stepped -behind him. He put both his hands on the stiff shoulders before him, trying to give Aragorn strength and letting him feel the faith that he had in the man and his judgment. Aragorn's breathing deepened and he began to gather the force at his command. When Legolas was sure the man had entered the light trance necessary, he took up his familiar position as his fingers found the latches of Nienor's shirt one last time. The healer's fingers hovered over heart and brow, and once again the young elf was called back from the journey he had begun. This time when Legolas began to sing, his voice remained soft yet the chant vibrated with a commanding summons.

Nienor lay unmoving and insensate as the power the man could summon and direct entered his weakened body. His face was ashen and his hair dull and lank. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes were closed.

Aragorn's demand that the elf return to awareness was fierce and undeniable. As Nienor's eyelashes first quivered and then fluttered open, Aragorn did not cease his efforts, but rather increased them. Legolas watched in amazement as the eyes focused fully on Aragorn's face and Nienor's chest rose higher with each breath than it had for some days. Legolas was thankful to see that the young elf no longer seemed so enraged as he gazed upon Aragorn. As for the man, as he lifted his hands, he did not slump backward in exhaustion, but leaned forward and spoke gently. "Nienor, I have a question to ask you. It is an important question, and I must know that you can fully understand what I am saying to you. I must also clearly understand your response. You communicate well with us through your hand motions, but for this you must write what you wish to say. Do you feel strong enough to do that?"

Showing little interest in Aragorn's words, Nienor nodded. Legolas began to place pillows behind him, propping him up, while Aragorn reached for the quill and parchment placed ready by the bed. As his fingers closed on the parchment, the door opened and Kenuric entered. His face was still set in the mask he had shown Aragorn since the man had rejected his counsel. He said abruptly but quietly, "I will witness what you would do here. I must be certain that Nienor's choice is truly his."

Aragorn met his eyes squarely. "You are welcome. It is your right as Master Healer of the Dunedain to be present for such a weighty matter."

Kenuric nodded stiffly and took up a position directly across from Legolas, as though to balance one viewpoint with its opposite.

By now Nienor was free of the trance-like state he had inhabited since Lenwë's death. He did not turn his head, but moved his eyes from person to person as he took in the seriousness of their expressions. He felt a shiver of apprehension - what new calamity was he facing?

Aragorn reached out and took the pointed chin in his hand and slowly turned the elf's face toward his. "Nienor. I had hoped that by now that you would have recovered enough from the worst of your grief that you would turn toward life and grasp it firmly. But you have fought my efforts continually, reaching instead for what we know as death. Kenuric, Legolas, and I are worried about you. You cannot continue to live in this twilight land, one foot in the Halls and one in our world. The three of us have decided that you must choose whether to remain in Arda or to depart for Namo's Halls. Legolas and Kenuric do not agree on the best course for you to take, and they want to be sure that you understand the reasons they hold the positions they do. They will both speak to you, and I want you to listen very, very carefully."

Nienor nodded again, but Aragorn shook his head. "You must write and tell me what I have just said to you."

Legolas held out the quill and gently curled Nienor's hand around it. He held the parchment beneath the tip, but did not help the elf to move it. With excruciating slowness the quill sputtered and slid shakily across the page. Nienor wrote only a few words before his hand fell laxly upon the quilt beneath it. Legolas read the parchment and then handed it to Kenuric. The healer read aloud: " 'choice mine go or stay Healer and Legolas disagree speak to me try to persuade my choice'. That is terse enough but I believe he understands."

Aragorn sighed as he nodded. "Who wishes to speak first?"

Legolas shrugged. "Does it matter? You decide."

"Very well. Legolas will speak first, and then Kenuric. I suggest you be brief, as I am not sure how long he will remain aware."

Legolas took one of Nienor's hands and knelt beside his bed. He spoke heavily, and Kenuric was startled to realize that the elf did not desire the ending he thought would come. "Nienor. Grieving one. I know you want to leave and follow Lenwë. I know the weight of your sorrow smothers your heart, until it can scarce beat at all. But this is a decision that cannot be undone; you must think carefully. If you choose to leave us, if to depart is truly your wish, then I will aid you as I can. I will not leave you until you are safely upon the Road. You will not be alone."

Nienor nodded gratefully, and with the lightest of pressures returned the Silvan elf's clasp. Legolas then stood and made way for Kenuric. He also knelt, and with a healer's gentleness stroked an errant lock from the elf's brow. He spoke quietly, keeping his feelings tightly bridled.

"You do not know me as well as you know Aragorn and Legolas, but please believe I have your best interests at heart. There are many things I could say: that you do not know where this journey will take you; that you do not know if you will even find the one whose absence grieves you so; that you have no right to willfully destroy what Eru has given you, intending you to live for ages. No, Nienor. Little though you know me, I will speak of my own heart. Long ago I had a dear friend—he was Aragorn's father. I have always been a little…difficult…to befriend, but Arathorn looked past my defenses and saw something—I have never known what—worth knowing in me, and over time we became as brothers. I could speak forever of what his friendship meant to me, but there is no time, so I will pass on. An arrow took the life of my friend and I felt as you do now—that life could hold no more joy for me, and I was well quit of it. I tried to leave, but grief so clouded my thoughts that I forgot the heal-craft I could easily abuse, and I simply lay down and waited. I will not tell you the story of why I lingered, and how I was saved, for what sufficed for me will not work for you. But I am going to do something no one has ever seen me do before: I am going to boast of myself. It is not that I am a humble man, you understand; quite the reverse, in fact. I am far too proud to puff myself off. But I want you to know what I have done since I stayed, while my friend went on without me." Kenuric now stood and pulled a surprised Aragorn to his feet. He shook the arm he held and pointed with his other hand. "I have saved this man's life three times!" He strode around the bed and pulled likewise at Legolas. "And this one at least once! I have work that is of vital importance—work that I love." He returned to kneel beside Nienor, but shot a quick glance at Aragorn. "I have friends, Nienor, even if I do not always treat them well. I have found many pleasures, many things to cherish in this world, since those dark days when my heart was breaking. I have never gone a single day without missing my friend, but I have yet found life to be rich. How much more awaits _you_; who are young enough to have all of life spread before you." Kenuric drew a deep breath and took Nienor's chin in hand, as he looked deeply into his eyes, letting the young elf see the truth in them. "I wanted to die, Nienor. But I am glad, today, that I did not. I know you do not want to hear this, that it will seem like a betrayal of what was between you, but one day it will not hurt so much. And then you will see that life still holds many joys for you. Choose life, Nienor."

A tear trickled slowly down Nienor's cheek as he smiled gently at Kenuric. He patted the hand that clenched the edge of the bed, as though to give comfort. Kenuric tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he stood. He did not feel the rage that usually took him when young lives were ended untimely, but only a deep sadness. He drew a shuddering breath and forced his eyes away from the elf and looked to Aragorn. "I have said all that I have to say. What now?"

Aragorn nodded to Legolas who once again placed the quill in Nienor's hand. "Nienor, do you want time to think on the words you have heard? You may take as long as you need."

Nienor soberly shook his head and his hands began to move in weak gestures.

Aragorn shook his head in turn. "No, you must write it. Write it out completely so that none of us here are in doubt of your meaning."

For long minutes the quill scratched against the parchment, rasping the nerves of the three watchers. Nienor had to rest often, but at last he gave the parchment a slight push in Legolas' direction. The older elf took it up and read: "I understand your words. Legolas says think carefully. I am grateful for Kenuric's kindness. I know he wants best. I am glad he found happiness, but I am not him. Without Lenwë, I do not want to live." The characters began to stagger and the words were brief. him…fear. Without him….pain…only pain. Let me go. Please."

For a few moments the last word hung in the air, as two men and an elf stood frozen. Then Aragorn said harshly, "He has chosen. Do you both agree he did it freely?"

Kenuric and Legolas whispered, "Yes."

"So be it!" Aragorn turned and started from the room, striking his fist angrily against the frame as he thrust through the door. Legolas made a movement as though to follow, but his eyes fell on Nienor and he paused. He was not comfortable leaving the young elf alone with Kenuric, but he was desperately concerned for Aragorn. The man had done the right thing—Legolas was certain of that—but he doubted Aragorn would be able to easily cast off the feeling that he had done a great wrong, both to Nienor and to his own spirit. He frowned as Kenuric stepped to the small window to watch Aragorn cross the compound; he was certain the disagreeable healer would try to make Aragorn feel himself a murderer.

Kemuric held his position only a few moments before crying out sharply, "Aragorn!"

Legolas joined him in a heartbeat, and they jostled shoulders as they gazed on a still form lying on the ground. Kenuric turned in a flash, saying, "Stay with the elf – I will tend to Aragorn. I _knew_ he was not strong enough for this madness!"

Legolas grasped his arm, fingers biting deeply. "Where will you take him? His hut? Send someone to watch Nienor – I cannot stay here while -"

Kenuric shook himself free and without a word turned to the doorway. Almost through it, he turned his head back over his shoulder. "I will send you word as soon as I may." Then he was gone, and Legolas saw him stride across the greensward, skirts flapping, to shove aside the rangers who had begun to assemble around their fallen commander.

"Get out of my way, you imbeciles! Get back and give him some air. Your chieftain is merely exhausted from the cares of leading such a pack of foolhardy, headstrong rogues!" As he spoke, the healer knelt next to Aragorn and swiftly felt throat and wrist, pulled back an eyelid, and put one ear against the man's chest. He sighed with relief to find the man, as he had thought, only overcome by the demands of the morning. Looking up at the circle of worried faces around him he growled, "Your commander will be fine. You and you – carry him to his hut. Arvel, get to the kitchen and order some food – nothing too heavy. The rest of you get back to your duties. Arvel, wait!"

The young ranger turned back. "Yes, Healer Kenuric?"

"Go first to the healing hut, and tell Prince Legolas that Lord Aragorn is merely exhausted and will recover fully."

"At once, Healer."

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End Chapter 8

A/N My own personal beliefs tend more toward Kenuric's position, but it seemed to me that it was more 'true' to let Nienor choose death. I know that I have disappointed some of you who have stayed with this story so faithfully, and I am sorry for that. There is still a light at the end of this dark tunnel, I promise.


	9. Nienor

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**Chapter 9 - Nienor**

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Legolas took a soft cloth and dipped it in the small bowl of water on the table next to him. He lifted it, and squeezed gently. He reached out to the young elf he tended and dripped a few drops into the parted lips. He dared no more, for the elf had stopped swallowing that morning. He sadly eyed the pale countenance with the lips now devoid of rosy hue, the eyelids closed and quivering, and the cheeks sunken and dry like frost blasted leaves. Though the full sun of afternoon shown through the window, the face on the pillow appeared as bleached of color as if it were viewed by Ithil's rays.

Legolas had not rested since Nienor's choice had been made two days ago; he had vowed to stay with the young elf, and would not leave him, not even to retreat briefly into reverie. As the life dimmed in the youthful body, Legolas felt a gnawing fear that he had been wrong in his belief that Nienor should be allowed to choose life or death. He wished it were over, and hated himself for that wish. He wished Aragorn would do more than appear in the doorway each morning, question whether Nienor still lived, and then turn to go. He wished for the comfort of Aragorn's presence, then chided himself for his selfishness. He had persuaded Aragorn against his most dearly held beliefs; he could not expect the man to come and hold his hand, now that he was faced with the consequences of his urgings. But oh, how he wished Aragorn were with him, speaking gently as he had in the past, somehow easing the pain by turning it to tears. He wished for Aragorn, for without him he could not weep.

A shadow cut off the light from the open doorway, and Legolas lifted his head, feeling a flicker of hope. But it was not Aragorn who stood hesitating before quietly walking to the bedside. It was Kenuric who stood with one eyebrow raised in question. Legolas nodded and the healer quickly, yet with reverence, checked the pulse at wrist and throat, felt for breath with the palm of his hand, and gently pulled back an eyelid. He sat down on a stool opposite Legolas and said softly, "It will not be long." He waited for a response and when none was forthcoming, sharpened his attention as his eyes swept over Legolas. "You are not looking well yourself, your Highness."

Legolas twitched an irritable shoulder. With the flat tone that results from endless repetitions, he murmured, "Legolas. Just Legolas. I have asked you a hundred times…"

"Then, _Legolas_, it is obvious that this…situation…is taking its toll on you."

A small spark of anger flickered in the deep blue eyes that met Kenuric's fully for the first time. "Does that please you?"

An answering spark flared in eyes that were also blue, but the pale blue of a glacier. "Whatever you think of me personally, you must know by now I do not take pleasure in wounds to the body or the spirit."

To Kenuric's surprise, Legolas nodded. "I have never doubted that you are a true healer - you would heal an orc if we brought one in. As for me, I am well enough."

Kenuric stood and walked around the foot of the bed, quickly grasping Legolas' wrist. He muttered to himself, "A bit fast, but not unexpected..."

Legolas snatched his hand away. "Let be!"

Kenuric's lips quirked in a small, sour smile. "_You_ are my concern now, not Nienor. His fate is sealed; you are still under my care. And do not deny you are my concern - for as long as you are in this camp, your health is very much my concern. Not least because my chieftain would not take it kindly if I allowed harm to come to you. My life would not be worth a wooden penny."

At the mention of Aragorn, Legolas bowed his head in misery. Kenuric found himself saying gruffly, "You must give him time. He is not angry with you, but rather life itself, for forcing him to the decision he had to make. I do not expect him to return to his true nature until Nienor is gone. He has not abandoned you or Nienor, no matter how it appears. Nor does he blame you for speaking your mind and urging a different path than he desired. He needs to deal with this in his own way."

"Then what is his way, for I have not seen him more than five seconds in these last two days?"

"For now his way is to ride himself, his men, and his horses to exhaustion while patrolling. I daresay the hills round about have never been so clean of orcs, brigands, or any evil folk. Legolas, he is – " Kenuric sighed deeply. "you must…just give him time." Wearily, as though some of the elf's exhaustion had been transferred to himself, Kenuric headed for the door of the hut. Pausing at the threshold he said, "I will send someone with food for you."

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Aragorn dismounted and gave his reins into the hold of one of the younger rangers. Without a word he turned away, and nearly stepped into the body of the Horsemaster. The grizzled old man wasted no time in polite chit chat. "Lord Aragorn. Apparently you have decided that orcs do not kill enough of our horses, and have decided to do in a few yourself."

Aragorn had the grace to flush slightly, but his voice was hard. "I was not aware any had died." He gestured behind him. "Certainly this one will not."

The Horsemaster grabbed Aragorn by the arm and swung him around. He pointed a finger at the sorrel that stood with lowered head, nostrils flared and rhythmically twitching, with white soapy foam drying on neck and flanks. "Nay, he will not, but he will be a week recovering! None of the horses that have gone out in the last two days are fit for work – nor will be without extra rations and rest!"

Aragorn glared pointedly at the fingers that were still clenched on his upper arm, and they fell away. "I will take spare horses with us tomorrow. Will that satisfy you?"

The angry man did not say that only the return of his chieftain would satisfy him; he did not have a death wish, after all. Still glowering, he said bitterly, "It will have to, will it not?" He then took Aragorn's horse into his own care, while the man left without another word.

When Aragorn traversed the clearing he kept his eyes resolutely away from the healing hut, as he strode quickly toward a meal and his bed. Surely he was tired enough to sleep this night. His hands clenched into fists as he thought desperately//I _will_ sleep. Dear Valar, let me sleep!//.

Aragorn had nearly reached the privacy of his hut when Kenuric stepped before him. He groaned at the prospect of another tirade, and spoke sharply to forestall it, "Repetition does not make your censure more palatable. I know what you would say, and I would rather put the time I would spend arguing with you into getting some rest."

For the first time in some years, truly vicious words jostled behind Kenuric's teeth. He bit them back with an effort, and kept his voice carefully controlled. "By the look of you, it would be time wasted. But I have not come to berate you, Aragorn. It is true I feel you made the wrong choice, and that Prince Legolas was wrong to urge you to it, but I also know you did what you thought best. Leaders—good ones—do not go grey before their time because all decisions are easy ones. The choices were made, and the path is set; there is no profit in going over old ground. My concern now is with Legolas."

"This sudden concern for someone you practically came to blows with is touching."

"Will you let him keep the deathwatch alone? I am not such a fool as to think he will find pleasure in Nienor's death."

Aragorn said bleakly, "A young, healthy elf will die today or tomorrow and I could have prevented it. Against my training and my judgment I was forced to acquiesce. But I will have no further hand in it."

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The waxing moon cast its bleached radiance over the clearing as the night turned slowly toward dawn. Since the ranger's huts were all behind the tree line, the moonlight did not strike any of them directly. Yet it must have affected the sleep of at least one man. He walked across the open space, sidestepping the stone circle that enclosed the dying embers of the communal fire. He did not need the moonlight to navigate, as he was long used to walking this path in the small hours of the night. It was the time when men stirred restlessly in their sleep, tormented by ghosts from their past or loneliness. The time when pains of the body seemed to bite hardest. The time when the soul slipped most easily from its mortal frame. As he had on so many sad occasions before, Kenuric walked toward yet another meeting with death.

He eased open the door to the healing hut, and moved quietly to where Legolas sat holding one of Nienor's hands in his. The form under the blanket did not stir, and Kenuric did not perform any of the accustomed acts of a healer, but once again sat on the stool across the bed from Legolas. He sat quietly, nearly as still as Nienor, his hands folded within his long, full sleeves. He looked at Legolas and raised one eyebrow slightly. The elf nodded and whispered, "Soon now."

Nienor appeared little changed from the day before, but to an experienced healer it was obvious he was far closer to the entrance to the White Road. After a few moments, Kenuric reached for Nienor's other hand, sighing a little to feel it lie limp, cool, and still in his own. Automatically, his fingertips came to rest on the pulse in Nienor's wrist, and felt it slow and weak. Almost imperceptibly it disappeared altogether, and Kenuric laid the hand gently at Nienor's side. He leaned forward and paused with his hands over the chest of the young elf. He again questioned Legolas with a glance, and again the prince nodded, his eyes wide with pain and denial. Kenuric gently loosened the cord which secured the elf's sleeping shirt, and spread it open over the pale chest. He held one hand, palm flat, an inch above the skin, before slowly lowering it to touch the chill flesh beneath. He pressed down until he could feel the heart's pulse, then stilled. He seemed to gaze into the distance and Legolas watched as his eyelids twitched ever so slightly, in a slow rhythm. Suddenly Legolas' breath caught as he realized he was seeing Nienor's heartbeats in the quiver of the brown lashes. Seconds apart, so slowly they came, and Legolas began to chant softly, his voice at first a mere croak, but strengthening as the chant continued.

_Child of Light;  
Eru's son.  
The Road stretches before you._

_Child of Light;  
Lenwë's Heartson.  
The long journey begins._

_Take no thought nor glance behind,  
For we who tarry do not weep.  
As the sorrows of life release their hold,  
We surrender you gladly into peace._

Kenuric's lashes twitched slower and slower, while Legolas' voice became more fervent.

_The lofty Halls before you stand,  
And though they echo severe and cold,  
One whose soul so brightly shines  
Will not be long within their hold._

_Child of Light;  
Eru's son.  
The Road stretches before you._

Kenuric slowly removed his hand, pulled the edges of the shirt together, and bowed his head. Legolas faltered, then finished his chant in a soft, loving whisper.

_Child of Light;  
Lenwë's Heartson.  
The long journey begins._

Legolas brought the hand he had held for what seemed like hours to his forehead, then to his lips, then laid it upon Nienor's chest. His own hands fell limply to his thighs, and he simply sat for long minutes. Kenuric rose and folded Nienor's other hand to his breast, then moved around the bed to stand for a moment next to Legolas. At length he clasped the elf's shoulder lightly. "I was in Imladris for two years; I know what to do. Will you accept my help in what needs to be done?"

Legolas said nothing, and after waiting for some time Kenuric turned to go. He was nearly through the door when a soft voice called out. "Will you notify Aragorn?"

"I will."

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Kenuric stared down at the man who sprawled over the cot, still booted and cloaked. He straightened the limbs, and tested temperature and pulse with gentle fingers that belied the frustration that pinched his mouth and narrowed his eyes. He began to leave the hut, planning to return when the ranger awoke, but a soft word stopped him. "Kenuric."

The healer turned. "You are awake then. I apologize for disturbing your rest."

"What news?"

"Nienor has passed. Just a short time ago."

Aragorn sat up and scrubbed his aching eyes with shaking fingers. He tried to order his sleep muddled thoughts, stumbling as he spoke. "How was it – did he – "

"He passed quietly. It was truly a fading. He seemed to dim slowly until one moment he was still with us, and the next he was gone. You should come to see him, Aragorn. By his face, he is at peace now. It may ease your mind somewhat to see him."

"No. You mean well, but….no." Aragorn clenched his hands in his lap, raised his head, opened his mouth, and then shut it again.

"If you are trying to ask about Legolas, he is as well as can be expected. He needs…well, he needs to weep, Aragorn, but his eyes are dry and have been throughout this ordeal. As you know better than I, elves need to express their emotions; their lives are perhaps more...intense…than ours in that way. He needs you to help him."

Aragorn focused on a less troublesome aspect of Kenuric's words. "It is amazing to hear you so concerned for Legolas' welfare. Quite the change of heart, is it not?"

Holding the ranger's gaze, Kenuric replied, "Someone has to be. You seem to have abdicated that responsibility." Kenuric took a deep breath. Haranguing Aragorn would only put the man's back up. "Nienor's body needs to be attended to. You cared together for Lenwë, helping Legolas by your very presence to deal with the death of an elf. Will you leave him to perform such duties for Nienor alone?"

Aragorn shook his head helplessly. "I do not want to hurt Legolas, but – " His voice hardened and Kenuric fought the desire to shake him. "I want no part of it. Legolas wanted this ending – let him deal with it."

Kenuric held his tongue, knowing that Aragorn was using anger at Legolas as a shield against his own feelings of guilt and sorrow. Kenuric had to admit he was surprised at how easily his own righteous wrath had given way to reluctant sympathy for the Mirkwood prince. Now that his mind was no longer clouded with passion, he could see more clearly now, clearly enough to know that the time was not right to try to force a reconciliation between the two friends.

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Kenuric briskly moved a hand above the costly or dangerous medicaments he kept locked in his own hut for security. Somber though his errand was, he could not keep from lightly running his fingers over the fruits of his expertise. Tiny ceramic jars, sparkling glass vials, miniature carved chests, and tall pottery bottles crowded the shelves the rangers had built for him. From one shelf he abstracted a large jar of very highly refined tallow, normally reserved for burns, and from another he gathered aromatic herbs and oils. At his worktable he began to work the herbs and oils into the tallow, until he had a creamy, fragrant unguent. He added the pot of unguent to a stack of linen sheets, and gathered the whole into his arms. As dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, he made yet another trip to the healing hut.

Kenuric's eyes went first to Legolas as he pushed open the door with his foot. The elf sat exactly as he had been left, and the food Kenuric had ordered—herbal tea and bread and honey—sat on a tray on another bed, untouched. The healer set his burden down on a third bed and went to the cupboard against the wall to remove two copper bowls, some flannel squares, and soap. His hand hovered between the coarse soap used by the rangers for general purposes and the precious cakes sent by Lord Elrond, which were normally used only for preparing surgical sites and cleansing infected wounds. He grasped the priceless cleanser and went to fill the bowls with water. When all was assembled, he moved to Legolas and said stiffly, "I have prepared what is needful. If you will permit, I will assist you in this."

Legolas looked dully at the array of materials Kenuric had gathered. As their purpose sank into his fogged mind, he began to shake his head. "No. No, not yet. How can you even think to – "

Kenuric spoke gently but firmly, "It must be done soon. The weather is too warm, and he will begin to…stiffen…in an hour or two."

Legolas' face twisted in revulsion. "How can you be so callous? He has only just passed!"

"If you will not do it, I will. And I do not think you want _me_ preparing one of the Firstborn." Kenuric hesitated, then said more quietly, "Come, Legolas. You served Nienor well while he has been with us. You eased his life in camp with freely offered friendship, you eased his death with kindness; do him this one last service."

The anger bled from Legolas, leaving him with nothing but resignation and sorrow. "Very well. But we will not speak, and I will be the only one to touch him, understood?"

"Understood."

Kenuric pulled a small table to Nienor's bedside. Once everything was arranged, Legolas began. First he stripped the bedclothes away, then removed the elf's sleep shirt and linen. As Kenuric handed him the soap and wrung out flannels, Legolas began to wash the body of the elf that had pulled so fiercely at his heartstrings. As he tenderly wiped the cloth over the high brow and down one cheek, he was pleased to see the lines of pain were disappearing. More than at any time since Lenwë's death, Nienor's face took on, once again, its breathtaking loveliness, although the roses and sun-warmed bronze were gone, never to return this side of the Western Sea. As he moved on to one long, slender arm, Legolas glanced back at the doorway. It was one of many such glances, and Kenuric's lips thinned. He could understand Aragorn's behavior, but that did not mean he approved or excused it.

Kenuric changed the water several times, as Legolas continued the devoted tending of the young elf. Finally, he smoothed the cloth over the last toe, and set the narrow ankle he held against its twin. He looked once last time toward the door, then suddenly turned and stared at Kenuric. "You did not need to do this. It would have taken me much longer, but I could have done what was needful without aid."

Kenuric returned look for look. He struggled for speech, as though the shared silence had rendered him as mute as Nienor. "I did not think you should have to do this without – " He struggled but could not say it. Could not say that he had been unable to leave the elf comfortless, even if _his_ comfort was the last Legolas would desire.

A sudden flash of understanding illuminated the elf's blue eyes, but he did not say a word. Instead he reached behind Kenuric, took up the pot of unguent and placed it firmly in the healer's hand. He asked formally, "Nienor's body must be further prepared. Will you help me?"

Kenuric inclined his head and they began. Long fingers, one set soft and smooth, one set calloused from bow and knife, rubbed the fragrant ointment into Nienor's skin from crown to foot. The hands moved in long, smooth strokes, or circled reverently, and they matched each other so that hand and hand, rib and rib, thigh and thigh, were anointed together. Legolas began to sing softly, songs filled with remembrance and hope. When Kenuric had the measure of the tune he hummed a soft harmony, bringing forth the first smile that Legolas had shown in days. Next, they wrapped the slender form, first in narrow bands around arms, legs, and face, then in the final wide swathings that completely encompassed the shell that Nienor had left behind. This they did as one, each taking a turn to hold and lift, the other wrapping the cloth under and around. At last the task was finished, and man and elf stood looking at their handiwork. Kenuric was the first to speak. "What now? Will you bury him?"

"No. He has one more journey to make. He and Lenwë. At least in this they will journey together once more."

"Tonight?"

A long, weary sigh. "Yes."

"Best to have it over and done. I do not want to intrude, but if you would like me to…"

"Thank you for the offer, and all you have done this day for Nienor. And for me. But I must do the last task alone."

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End Chapter 9


	10. Legolas and Aragorn

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Chapter Ten – Legolas and Aragorn

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When Aragorn returned to camp in the late evening, he found Kenuric waiting for him at the picket lines. As he gave his horse—not nearly so lathered as the one he rode the day before—to a young ranger, he brushed past the healer and started down the path without a word. Kenuric quickly caught up with him and matched Aragorn stride for stride. "Legolas is doing whatever he has planned for the bodies of Nienor and Lenwë tonight. I thought you should know."

"Good. Then this whole sorry episode will be over and done with, and maybe we can return to lesser matters, like trying to free Arda from evil!"

"It is always unfortunate when novices resort to sarcasm. You should leave it to those who excel at it."

A tiny quirk of Aragorn's lips had Kenuric thanking the Valar that a chink had appeared in the man's defenses. "Like you?"

Smugly. "Of course."

They walked on together, the tension that had been pouring off Aragorn a little diminished, and Kenuric grasped the opportunity presented to him. "Legolas said he needed to do whatever he will do - alone."

"Then we will see he is not disturbed."

"That is what he_said_, but I think he would appreciate the presence of a friend. One friend in particular."

"Kenuric. No."

"But –"

"There are more…difficulties…than you know of. More than just a healer not wanting to see a young life ended for no good reason."

Kenuric prayed that the man would keep talking. "It will ease you to speak of it; you know this."

"The trouble is between Legolas and me. I cannot speak of what he has told me privately, believing it was between the two of us alone."

"I do not know him well, not as well as I should perhaps, but I know he suffers to see you estranged from him. He would be grateful for anything that would reconcile you."

Aragorn halted and Kenuric turned to face him. Then the healer spied a rock outcropping and pushed Aragorn gently in that direction. When he had seated the man, he found a smooth place for his own somewhat meager behind, and spoke as persuasively as he could. "Now tell me, Aragorn. Just let the words come, in whatever order you choose. You listened to me rant and rave when I was near to self-slaying—if there is any way I can help you, I will."

"What happened to 'Lord Aragorn'?"

Kenuric's eyes skated away from the younger man's. "You know I have a temper, and can be –"

"Childish?"

Kenuric's eyes returned and he said loftily, "I prefer the term intemperate." His gaze softened, "Do not change the subject, Aragorn."

Aragorn pulled up one knee and rested his chin upon it. Kenuric sat so that he could watch the other man's face, but remained silent. At last, with a sigh, Aragorn began. "Before ever Lenwë and Nienor came, there was a slight estrangement between Legolas and me. It was all of my making, you understand, and he was hurt by it as well as frustrated, for I would not discuss it with him. Then, when he was at his wits' end, through one of those strange coincidences of life, Nienor and Lenwë brought things to a head between us. You will understand this well, Kenuric, for the main point between us was that I could not face that I might cause Legolas' death through fading, if I myself fell through battle or mischance. It came near to happening a little over a year ago. I was sore wounded with a blow to the head, and I did not have you to attend me." Aragorn slanted a pale shadow of one of his mischievous grins at the man beside him. Kenuric snorted, but acknowledged the compliment with a slight smirk, then waved a hand to indicate Aragorn should continue. The man sobered again. "I was unconscious for many days, and the healers there told Legolas there was no hope—that I would die within a day or so. He began to grieve, and when I, by the grace of the Valar, returned to sensibility, he had begun to weaken. I dealt with his grief and fear by pretending that nothing had happened, and refusing to discuss it. I not only did not give him the succor he needed at the time, but I began to withdraw from him, as if by doing so I could lessen our future pain. He saw me as cold and distant, and in truth, looking back, it is as though I had enclosed myself in ice."

Kenuric loosened his tight jaw. "You say well that I would understand, for you were the cause of my own thaw—though my time of ice lasted twenty years. You speak of it as if this chill were in the past, so I assume you found a way to reconcile yourselves to inevitable pain?"

"Legolas deals with it by speaking of it to me. To be honest, and between you and me only, I hate it. I was raised by elves, but I am a human male: when I am upset I would rather spar, or run, or gallop for miles than talk something to death. Legolas and I met when I was a child, and he made the decision then, so he says, that he would accept future pain as the price for our association. But from time to time, he must talk his way through it. For me, the thought of his death fills me with such distress that I try not to think of it. At all."

Kenuric chuckled. "I can see that there is a conflict there. So he would try to speak with you about it and you would -"

"Cut him off, yes. I was blind to how much my avoidance of the subject hurt him."

"But you say you dealt with that, and all was well between you again."

"Oh, we talked some of it out, but only just before Lenwë made his dramatic exit."

The two healers frowned in perfect accord as they contemplated the effrontery of a patient taking his life into his own hands. Then Kenuric continued, "So you had barely come to an understanding when you found yourselves on opposite sides of a life-and-death question."

"Not only that, but Legolas saw Lenwë and Nienor as a reflection of our own future situation. He said I refused to contemplate Nienor's fading, because by keeping Nienor alive, I believed I was saving _him_. Ridiculous, is it not? Elves!"

Kenuric merely quirked an eyebrow.

Aragorn sat up straight. "Surely you do not agree! You were furious at the prospect that I might let him die!"

"So I was, and I am still having trouble dealing with it. That is beside the point. This is a very complex situation, Aragorn. Legolas' motivations are the most straightforward here. Yours are a combination of conflicts with your healing vows, and your relationship with an elf. You will not come to terms with everything today, or anytime soon. But your friend does not have time to wait for you to resolve these issues. He needs you tonight. Aragorn, he needed you these last two days."

Aragorn stared steadfastly into the distance, but one silvery tear slipped down his cheek. "I know." He lowered his head and whispered. "I cannot understand why he bears with me. I seem to bring him nothing but pain."

Kenuric was pleased to feel indignation fill his mind. Too much of the gentler emotions made him queasy and upset his equilibrium. He stood, shaking out his skirts brusquely. "If that is not the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard you utter—and believe me, I have heard much nonsense come from your mouth! A man does not gain and keep the affection of one of the Firstborn unless he has a great deal to offer such a friendship! Now, I have it on good authority that Legolas has ordered two horses for tonight. Are you going to order a third?"

"How can I simply join him, after the way I have treated him?"

Kenuric threw up his hands. "Valar preserve me from fools! Do as you please—I am done with both of you!" He started to stride off in the direction of the camp clearing, but stopped and spun around for a parting shot. "I never thought to see the day that I could name Arathorn's son a coward!"

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The sun had set and the nearly full moon was rising over the tree-tops when Legolas led two horses into the compound clearing. He had managed a few hours of rest, and was as ready as he could be to perform his last service for Lenwë and Nienor. He stopped outside the healing hut, bid the horses to wait, and disappeared within. He soon returned carrying a large bundle which he placed upon the pack horse. He then drew the two horses deep into the woods until they came to the spring which gave wholesome water to the encampment. The rangers had led a pipe of reeds to the camp proper, but here the frigid spring ran trickling out of the rocks which hid its source. The rangers, with great labor, had worked a niche into the cold rock so that Lenwë's body might be preserved until a decision was made as to how it should be disposed. Legolas now scooped out the thick covering of insulating leaves, and lifted the blanket wrapped body from its stone tomb. He laid it over the pack horse, side by side with Nienor, and then secured the two elves with rope. He mounted the other horse and beckoned to the first, as they quietly began to pick a way through the dense forest. When Legolas arrived at the perimeter guard post, he passed by the sentry with a word and headed for a meadow a few miles from the rangers' outpost. They had to travel slowly, for Legolas had been unable to force himself to truss the elves as tightly as he should have; he could not bring himself to treat their bodies as mere baggage.

When Legolas at last stopped the horses, they stood in tree cover at the edge of a wide, rolling open space carpeted with grass and many flowers. He untied the two elves and laid them in the shadow of a great oak. Then under the light of the moon he began to gather deadwood. He filled his arms until he could barely see over the top of his burden, walking with a lack of grace that would surprise those who knew him as he tried to balance his load. He moved out into the open, close to the trees but far enough away to ensure no threat to them. He laid the branches on the ground and went back for another load.

Again and again he gathered loads of branches, ranging in size from thin as arrow shafts to thick as his upper arms. He had to move deeper and deeper into the forest to glean more wood and the moonlight could not penetrate there, even in little patches. In the gloom he bent down, reaching for a branch as thick as his wrist, when another hand closed around the weathered wood just above his own. Legolas jerked his gaze upward to see a well-beloved face hovering above him. Without a word the man raised the branch and reached for another. Legolas stood, hands slack at his sides, and watched Aragorn take an armload of wood out to the mound Legolas had accumulated. Still without a word the man passed close to the elf and bent to lift a pine bough from the ground. Legolas remained rooted where he stood like the oaks and evergreens around him, as the man made two more trips to the stack of wood in the meadow. Suddenly the elf started forward and stepped before Aragorn, his eyes questioning. In the dimness he watched as a hand rose and touched his cheek briefly, then fell away. With a dry sob the elf darted deeper into the wood and snatched at more branches. Beside him the man also gathered, and together they built the stack of wood high, but flat across the top. Together they built the pyre so that it would burn cleanly and fiercely hot. Together they spread the blankets that Legolas had brought, and together they lifted the bodies and laid them reverently side by side. Aragorn stepped to the front of the great stack and pulled a wrapped bundle from within his tunic. He pressed the small package against the wood, slowly working it inside until it could no longer be seen. Legolas raised a brow at the odd action, but Aragorn shook his head. Legolas then went to fetch a pitched torch from behind his saddle, and lit it with flint and steel. He moved to the head of the great mound of wood and stood with the flaring torch upheld for long moments. Then, just as he lowered it to the tinder he had carefully placed in readiness, another hand clasped the torch over his own. Together they fired the stack, holding the torch motionless until the tinder caught, then moving on. Again and again the two held the torch to the dry wood and tinder, and though their eyes met often, they spoke no word.

When the pyre was well alight, Legolas sank to his knees. He tried to sing, but his throat closed too tightly, and only a soft keening could be heard. Two hands gripped his shoulders tightly from behind, and his body was pulled back hard and braced against Aragorn's legs. It was from the man's lips that the proper lays soared into the night, along with the fiery sparks that rose quickly to the heavens. The flames roared higher and higher until the bundles that had been two of the Firstborn could no longer be seen, and the man and elf were forced to back away from the intense heat.

It was mid-morning before the pyre sank down to glowing embers and ash. Both the man and elf were covered in soot, their eyes red from hours of staring and from the desert dry air created by the fire. At some point Aragorn's legs had given out and he collapsed next to his friend. Now he cautiously straightened his back and rose to his feet, easing out the tightness from muscles held too long in one position. Legolas remained on his knees, though his straight back was now bent with weariness. Aragorn began to speak, but only a dusty croak issued from his mouth. Clearing his throat roughly, he tried again. "I have water in my packs." He hesitated when there was no response, then walked stiffly the considerable distance to the trees where he had hidden and secured his mount. By the time he returned to Legolas with a waterskin, he was moving more easily and only a soft grunt escaped his lips as he once again went to his knees beside Legolas. Aragorn pulled the stopper from the waterskin and soaked a small linen square. He shifted around in front of Legolas and one hand raised the elf's chin while the other began to tenderly cleanse away the dark grit from the elf's face. He was struck by the fact that although he could feel the stiffened tracks of tears on his own face, there were none streaking the dust and grime on Legolas. His eyes closed briefly at this further sign of wrongs done before he continued his gentle ministrations. He had dampened the cloth for the fourth time before the glassy eyes began to focus. As though only now realizing that his friend was beside him, Legolas whispered, "Estel?"

"Yes, I am here." Aragorn raised the waterskin. "You need water."

Like a child that accepts whatever is done to him, Legolas opened his mouth and Aragorn carefully fed him sips of the spring water, cool from the long night. When at length the elf turned his face away, Aragorn stoppered the skin and set it aside. He coaxed gently, "I have much to say to you, Legolas, but let that wait until you have rested. I have brought all we need for a small camp. There is food and fresh clothing, and I crossed a small stream not far from here if you would like to..." The man trailed off as he realized he was babbling. He said more quietly, "Tell me what I can do for you, and it is done."

Legolas appeared to simply gaze at the hands clasped loosely in his lap. He gave no sign that he had heard Aragorn, or even remembered he was there. After a few moments he began to tremble. Aragorn tentatively reached out a hand, and the elf clasped it desperately in both of his. Moving slowly, the man leaned in to pull the fair head against his shoulder. At first Legolas was stiff and resistant in his hold, but as the trembling became deep shudders, the elf relaxed into the comfort he had craved for three interminable days.

The first muffled sob caused Aragorn to glance skyward in thanks, and to tighten his arms as he began to whisper soothingly. "That's it, weep now. It is all right. It will be well. Soon, I promise. For now, let loose your grief for him."

Gasping, the elf said brokenly, "I did not desire their deaths. I did not _want_ Nienor to die!"

"I know. I know. Shhhhh. I know you did not. It's all right." Aragorn longed to beg his friend's forgiveness, but for now he thought only of the elf's grief; grief that could at last find its way out of the heart. He murmured and soothed while Legolas wept and clutched his tunic tightly, as if to a lifeline.

At last, eyes blinking blearily, Legolas raised his head. Aragorn smiled to see the elf drag the back of one hand across his face like a village urchin. Then the smile faded as he said quietly, "I am sorry for leaving you to deal with Nienor's death alone."

Legolas turned his face away and whispered, "I needed you, Aragorn."

"I know. I know there is nothing I can say; no excuse I can make. I am sorry; a million times I am sorry I left you alone at such a time."

Legolas said again, "I needed you." Then he turned back to face Aragorn, his eyes shining with forgiveness. "But I needed you last night as well, and you came. Even though your own heart is torn with guilt, anger, and doubt, you came."

Aragorn shook his head in frustration. "You forgive too easily - you always have. I do not deserve such consideration."

"It is for me to decide –"

"No. Not this time. This was no petty misunderstanding from words carelessly chosen. Not only did I know how difficult Nienor's death would be for you, Kenuric made sure I could not plead ignorance of the hardship I imposed upon you."

"He should not have interfered. It is between the two of us alone."

Aragorn smiled wryly, "It appears you have a staunch champion in _my_ healer. He scolded and shamed me into realizing the pain I have caused you."

Legolas began to reply, then yawned as a great wave of weariness overcame him. Aragorn rose to his feet, pulling the elf up with him. "You need rest, then food, then more rest."

Legolas turned his head back to gaze on the smoldering coals behind them. "No, we must finish what I came here to do. The…they…cannot be left so."

"It will take two days or more to cool sufficiently. Plenty of time to rest and eat. And talk, for I have much yet to say to you. But not now; now you will rest."

The elf grumbled as he was led away, a strong arm supporting him. "I am a grown elf, you know. I can make my own decisions."

Soothingly Aragorn replied, "Of course you can. And right now you choose to rest."

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It was mid-afternoon before Legolas roused from reverie. In the hours since he had been coaxed to lie on a blanket and had his head gently pillowed on a folded cloak, a tidy camp had been created around him. Aragorn sat cross-legged before a small fire, tending a simmering pot. When he saw awareness in the elf's eyes, he smiled warmly and began to spoon a thick gruel into a shallow bowl.

Legolas grimaced as he sat up and accepted the dish and a small horn spoon. "I do not like barley porridge."

"It has berries and nuts in it."

"That just means the berries and nuts are ruined by the porridge."

"It is good food for sick elves."

"One: I am not sick. Two: who says so? Three: I do not like it."

"One: you are exhausted and that is as much a stress on the body as illness. Two: Elrond says so. Three: I put berries and nuts in it that I gathered at great risk to life and limb, so you will eat it. If you let it get cold, you will like it even less."

Aragorn watched like a fond parent as Legolas reluctantly ate the thick, lumpy substance. "Estel, this is truly dreadful. Much worse than usual."

"Well, I had no milk, and the berries were not ripe. The nuts are good, though."

Legolas managed to choke down more than half and had to admit that the porridge sat comfortingly in his stomach, stilling the hunger he had not been aware of until it was eased. He returned the bowl to Aragorn who magnanimously said nothing about the food that remained uneaten. The man busied himself with tidying away the cooking implements and stirring the fire before he dropped to the ground next to his friend. The forced banter was put aside as he asked seriously, "How do you fare?"

Legolas sighed and his eyes strayed to the black oval in the green of the meadow. Then he turned a face etched with misery to Aragorn. "I have been in darkness. Like that in the depths of a cave that has no end, or like that miasma that hangs ever beneath the plumes of malevolence that emanate from Dol Guldur. Two of the Firstborn have gone to Mandos' Halls in the space of days. One was a myth the likes of whom I had never thought to meet, save for my privilege of knowing Glorfindel. The other was the personification of loyalty and love, youth and beauty." Legolas began to rock, arms tightly wrapped around himself as though the cold of the Halls touched him as he sat in the dappled sunshine.

Aragorn scrambled close to his side, kneeling as he pulled the elf roughly against him. One hand fisted in the flaxen hair, pressing Legolas' face deeply into a leather clad shoulder, the other surrounded ribs with force enough to near crack them. "Enough! You break my heart with your grief, and though I deserve it, and would welcome the pain as penance, I cannot bear to see you suffer like this. Let them go, Legolas, let them both go. You did all in your power to help them, you brightened Nienor's days in our camp, and by doing so gave Lenwë the greatest boon he would ask of you or anyone."

Aragorn's fierce words began to break through the smothering shroud of sorrow that encompassed the fair prince of Mirkwood. The man continued, his voice and hands now gentle, "I should have remembered how difficult you would find their passing; Elrond always said it felt as though a piece of his own fëar departed with every elf that died while under his care. And these were no ordinary elves were they? It is only natural that you should feel their passing all the more."

Legolas raised his head, grasping at Aragorn's words. "Indeed they were not. A stone would have felt the weight of Lenwë's years and wisdom. And only the blackest evil could have looked upon Nienor and not felt blessed to know him." Legolas drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I will think of them in Valinor together, Lenwë sitting beneath a great tree, finished with his wanderings at last and at peace. And Nienor will run laughing through the fields to meet him, or walk singing through the deep forests, and all will rejoice to hear him."

"As you will one day. Think how pleased you will be to meet each other again."

"Yes. Yes….I…will be….pleased…" Legolas slumped against his friend and for a heart-stopping moment Aragorn feared for him, until he felt the soft sigh of breath against his neck. The elf was still exhausted from his ordeal, but perhaps now his reverie would be less troubled.

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After two days Legolas was much recovered, feeling stronger and no longer quite so burdened with sorrow. He and Aragorn spent the third day completing the ritual for the remains of Lenwë and Nienor. Together, just as they had built the pyre and fired it, Legolas and Aragorn used curved sheets of tree bark to carry the cooled ashes to a hole dug at the base of one of the venerable oaks that made up the small wood. It took them from sunup to sundown, for digging such a hole amongst ancient tree roots was a formidable task, especially when undertaken with one sword and two elven knives. When the last ashes were tipped into the hole, Aragorn and Legolas covered them first with the forest mold removed from the hole, and then with the turves that had been put aside when the hole was begun. As Legolas dribbled water over the replaced grass, he drew his fingers through the green blades and smiled. He stood and stretched his back, for even elven backs protest at bending all day long, and said with satisfaction, "They are together in death as they were in life." He reached a hand down to Aragorn and helped pull the man to his feet. Legolas said softly, "We have done the best for them that we could, from the day they first found our camp. I see a light shining before me in the darkness, and in a short while I think I will walk fully in the sun again."

Aragorn felt a great weight lift from his heart. "I will pray that day comes soon, and aid and strengthen you in any way I can." The man shrugged his shoulders, easing tight muscles and feeling the ache burn down his back. "I have not spent so much time digging since I was a youth working in the gardens. Let us eat a quick supper and then get some rest. We can wait until tomorrow to journey home."

Flexing sore fingers, Legolas agreed and soon the two were resting beneath the stars, one snoring softly and one with open blue eyes hazed as if he looked through the finest linen gauze.

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The sun was just burning off the morning mist when two riders held their horses motionless a few feet from a newly created grave. Legolas and Aragorn sat silently, making their final farewells to the two elves who had come so dramatically into their lives, and who had departed with even greater drama. At length Aragorn lifted his hand and as if that were a signal, the two friends made the same elven gesture of farewell and respect, touching hand to heart and then sweeping the hand gracefully to the side. Then together they turned their horses and headed for home.

They rode in silence for an hour or so, letting the horses amble at their own pace. Then Legolas asked, "What did you place inside the pyre?"

"Letters. At least the one addressed to me was a letter, and they all looked to be the same."

"All? How many were there? Who were they from?"

Aragorn took a deep breath and braced himself. "They were from Lenwë. There was one for you, Nienor, Kenuric, Elrond, and myself."

"Why did you burn them unread? I do not think you had the right to keep my letter from me."

"I read mine, and then I read Elrond's. There was no point in giving you something that could only cause you more pain. In Elrond's letter, Lenwë left instructions on where and how to find various treasure stores that he had hidden, that they might be used to provide for Nienor. In my letter he gave me advice on how to deal with him, and pleaded with me to place him under my protection if I could not take him to Imladris. It…it was not pleasant reading given the choice we allowed Nienor and the path he chose. I knew the other letters must be in the same vein, and since Nienor was fading I saw no reason to increase the guilt you would feel at Nienor's passing. I did the same with Kenuric's letter, and if you are angry enough with me to tell him what I have done, say so now so that I may begin to ride hard for Harad or some other far country."

Aragorn's attempt to lighten the mood failed abysmally, and he prepared himself to suffer Legolas' wrath. The signs were there to be seen: the furrowed brow, the pinched mouth, the fire that darkened the eyes and near scorched Aragorn with their intensity. Then, just when the lips parted to deliver a ringing denunciation, the fire died. The elf slumped and spoke with tired resignation. "I am not going to fight with you about this. There has too much between us of late for me to start on yet another issue. You meant well, and with Nienor gone there is nothing that can be done to carry out Lenwë's wishes."

The two friends rode in silence once again, with Legolas turning something over in his mind and Aragorn too grateful for his reprieve to press for further conversation. As the horses stopped in the middle of a shallow stream to drink, Legolas' narrowed eyes fixed on the man beside him. "When did you read the letter?"

"What?"

" Lenwë's letter. When did you read it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Perhaps a great deal. When, Aragorn?"

"I can hardly recall; we were so busy with Nienor –"

"Do not think to evade me. _When_?"

"About a week into my attempts to persuade Nienor to stay. The letters were put aside in a store cupboard – probably by the apprentice healer in all the haste to tend Nienor – so I did not receive them as soon as I should have."

"You read it while trying to make up your mind what to do. You read a letter written by a very cunning elf who was well aware of the emotional effect of the words he used. An elf with one thought only: that he might craft circumstances in such a way that Nienor would be cared for by a man and elves who are highly placed and carry great influence." Legolas gazed on his friend with sadness, but this time it was not for the loss of two elves. "I begin to be grateful that I did not read his letter to me. His words must have pierced like an arrow, and once Nienor was gone, they echoed in your heart and would not be silenced. Much becomes clear to me now."

As the horses moved on, scenting their home corrals on the lifting breeze, Aragorn refused the excuse offered him. "Do not blame Lenwë for my actions. I was the one that left you to deal alone. I was the one who refused you comfort. _I_, not Lenwë."

"As you said so forcefully, you are a healer. Not only of the body, but of the mind and heart. In addition, you are a man most chivalrous. It is as natural for you to defend and protect the weak as it is for you to breathe. Many things combined to engage your will to hold Nienor to Arda. Lenwë's letter must have stung like salt rubbed into a festering wound. You are not the only one to have been unmindful of a friend's pain."

Stunned by such grace, such freely offered absolution, Aragorn gave his friend the truth that he himself was only beginning to see. "You are right, as you nearly always are. Lenwë's words bit far harder than he could have imagined, for in him I saw much of my father: great age, great wisdom, great authority, carried as easily as I wear a cloak in winter. I could not help but desire to do his will if I could. I was torn by the truth of both your words and Kenuric's. And over and surrounding all was the dread in my heart of watching an elf fade. You are much like him, you know. You spoke often of his beauty and grace, but have you never seen your own reflection? You said he was the personification of loyalty and virtue; do you not see that you are those things to me? I could not bear to be in the same room with him as he died – I could not!"

"Aragorn, is it a trait of men or of you alone that you hesitate to speak of the concerns of the heart? We touched on a little of your anguish _that_ night, but how much more you were keeping from me!" The elf shook his head in self-disgust. "Forgive me, Aragorn, for I was so intent on Nienor that I was unaware that you were also in need."

"I will not hear you if you are to speak nonsense. The fault was mine. Kenuric painted me a compelling picture of the state you were in, and still my heart was a stone."

"Ah, Aragorn, it is because your heart is _not_ a stone that we came to such a pass. You are like a hedgehog – nay, a _miserly_ hedgehog." He laughed at Aragorn's soaring eyebrow, but became serious again almost at once. "You hoard your pain, curling around it and setting up barriers against those who would seek to ease it. You think to spare us concern. You think you must bear alone or be less than a man. Who knows what else impels you to seal your troubles away, for I surely do not. I only know that it grieves me when you will not let me into the fortress you make of yourself. You guard your ramparts with a frost that burns when I touch it."

Aragorn stared at his lifelong friend, taken aback by his insight. He truly had not been aware that his anger was a defense, even when Kenuric had spelled it out for him. Now the gentle voice of one who was his heart's brother showed him his fault as well as the good intentions that were its roots. He sighed deeply. "I would so like to say, in ringing tones, that all will now change, that I will never seal myself away from you again. But I doubt I would keep such a promise easily."

"Just say you will try. That you understand that what hurts one of us, hurts both. That shared pain is easier to bear."

"I _will_ try. I will try and I will also be more willing to listen when you have need to speak, even when the words touch upon my fears."

"Then I am content." Legolas turned his gaze straight ahead, for even elves who speak freely of matters of the heart find some things difficult to say. "Once, when I was very young, I tended a wounded fawn, and came to love it. It could not be healed and died, in spite of desperate care and a thousand child's tears. In my grief I cried out to my father that I did not want to feel such pain; that I never wanted to feel it again. I will never forget his words to me: 'The more the love, the more the pain, my little leaf. Would you push love away to spare your heart? Would you truly wish to live cold, so very cold, when warmth, laughter, and joy that can not be contained is also your portion? You have frightened me out of an Age of my life on many, many occasions. You have angered me with your heedlessness, you have hurt me with piercing words. Should I go to the Valar and say, 'No, thank you. Take him back. He is not worth the pain.' ?' I think my eyes were wide as saucers when he said those words - my Ada, saying he did not want me! Then he went on, 'Legolas, one hug of your arms around my neck, one whisper of 'I want my Ada' when night terrors haunt you, one touch of your lips on my cheek, are more than recompense for all the fear, anger, and heartache that you could ever give me. Love is worth its price.' I believed him, Aragorn. I believe him still. And I love."

As the horses stopped before the corral, Aragorn fought the lump in his throat before he forced out hoarsely, "I also, Legolas."

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In the shadows of the trees overhanging the horse pens, a watcher gazed intently as the two riders dismounted and moved into a brief embrace. As they began to strip saddles and gear, he carefully noted the lack of tension in shoulders and hands, and the warmth in the voices that discussed nothing more than the care of horses and tack. He smiled as he turned away and stepped quietly onto a little used path. His thoughts were a curious mixture of sadness and deep contentment. As he had waited for three days for the return of the two friends, he had bid his own farewell to Lenwë and Nienor. He mused on how suddenly they had appeared, and how tragically they had departed. He used some of the time to carefully chronicle their sojourn in the ranger's camp. He feared they would soon become just another story to tell children at bedtime, so strange was their tale, and so far beyond human ken their lives and motivations. His somber thoughts yielded to plans for the coming days. It seemed that all was now well between the Chief of the Dunedain and his closest friend, so Kenuric was free to meditate on simples that needed replenishing, a sorely neglected manuscript, and the return of balance and peace to his world. Well, as much peace as could be expected in these times, but alarms and battles have their own familiarity, dreadful as that was to contemplate. Yes, there were many duties and tasks that had been set aside while the two wandering elves tarried with the rangers. Almost rubbing his hands together, Kenuric lifted his head and quickened his pace.

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End "Fidelis"

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